Mother Nature, can we talk?
It’s March 27th, and it still feels like winter in Amsterdam. Wind. Rain. Biting cold. Take all that and multiply it by ten when you’re on a bike. I know these are completely normal temperatures for this time of year, but still. Could we maybe get a little taste of spring?
I know, I know, when we moved to Atlanta all those years ago, the Dutchman and I swore we would never complain about the heat. That first summer, we were those crazy new neighbors who soaked up the sun in the dead of August. I’m pretty sure we lived outside for months. It took us that long to thaw out our frozen bones.
But the heat eventually got to us, just like the cold and wet does here, and it chased us inside. Before long, we were like everyone else in Atlanta, complaining about the heat, the humidity, the blazing hot sun. And when spring came, instead of throwing open the doors and running outside, we complained about the pollen.
So here I am, back where my promise all started, in the Netherlands, freezing and wishing for spring. Like everybody else on this sodden piece of land, I study the weather report like a religion and run outside when the skies stop dumping. I huddle on terraces under heaters and behind wind screens, my face pointed to the sun. I don’t care that it’s still freezing; I’m thrilled to just be outside, even if only for a few minutes.
And when Spring finally gets here, I promise to enjoy every single second. And this time, I promise it will last.