Not "when the world falls in love," but when antsiness descends. Chaucer's great prologue to the Canterbury Tales captures it fully: Nature pricks us down to the core to shake off winter and move (I was thinking Parliament of Fowls has the sentiment, too, but it wasn't exactly what I had in mind. Scanning it this morning reminded me of translating "Dream of Scipio," and it was neat to see how he moves seamlessly between pagan and Christian culture).
I digress! We're all edgy and itching to go . . . do something or who knows what. None of us is sure, but it's late February, a long time until school is finished (one more quarter to go) and longer before the sun is shining warm and strong. We might make a pilgrimage to the library in spite of the cold rain.
Every year it hits me--it used to be bad in the spring semester when I taught--and either I've communicated it in my genes or in my demeanor. It's a chore lately to be still and do the work that's in front of us. I think we'll buckle in (if I make this post short), get 'er done and move along. Just the thought of an outing has lifted my spirits.
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