Last night, I went out for an easy three miles. The temperature was a blissful 55 degrees, and I took the opportunity to wear shorts. I cruised along at an even 10-minute mile pace, covering my usual three-mile neighborhood route. But I saw the strangest thing.
Where many inches of snow had melted and flowed into the storm sewers, there were all these green, rubbery follicles sprouting up from the ground. I felt as if I were in a Walt Whitman poem.