Springtime in Chicago. There’s nothing quite like it. People descend upon the Lakeshore, Michigan Ave, Lincoln Park. The trails are full again, second only to the rooftop bars. I’m no longer the only runner out in the early hours of the morning. In short-we feel that we are able to live again.
No longer are we forced inside by bitter winds, blowing snow, icy streets. The city comes back to us like a bad ex boyfriend-gifts of spring flowers and sunshine in hand-apologizing for the ordeal of the last few months and full of promise for a better future. The savvy Chicagoan knows he will do you wrong again. But we are so entranced by the Caribbean blue of the lake we don’t think about the sub zero days ahead. Instead we turn our faces to the gradually strengthening sun and remember what being warm feels like.
Then we look at the forecast at realize it’ll be raining cats and dogs tomorrow.