Spring

As some of you may be aware (or not -- isn’t it still snowing in Boston?), the first day of spring was this past Friday. Everyone tells me that spring is the most beautiful season in Paris, and I’m inclined to believe them, though we haven’t seen much real evidence of growth and rebirth yet. The best we can hope for at the moment is that the gray overcast mist will be a few degrees warmer than usual, bringing the climate up from “damp and freezing” to “damp and tolerable for short periods of time.”

Actually, we have had a few days of nice weather scattered amongst the constant gloom. So far, the number of real spring days has totaled about three, and each one feels like a revelation. As could be expected, in typical "me" fashion, I managed to fall very ill during most of them, but I certainly enjoyed the view of blue skies afforded me by my windows. It’s also lovely to be able to open the windows without freezing solid in five minutes. As I’m sure those of you in Boston understand, sunshine and warm wind are two things I tend to take for granted -- until winter sets in and I realize I should have been cherishing every moment of mild weather that came before.

Two Sundays ago, the sun came out from behind the clouds to warm the white stone and wrought-iron railings, and we had our first taste of the beau temps to come. I spent that afternoon wandering under the Eiffel Tower and along the Seine, sipping a cold coffee drink and rolling up my sleeves.

Practically all of Paris had the same idea, it seemed, as the streets were teeming with people, tourists and locals alike. Cyclists, joggers, sightseers, families with children -- everyone was enjoying the opportunity to be outside without needing their heavy winter coats. It was a bit surprising to see that many people out and about on a Sunday, which is ordinarily pretty quiet; it’s not uncommon to see whole neighborhoods basically shut down, as nobody actually works on Sundays (Google “travail dimanche” to see just how invested the French can be in this issue). So to see all of Paris profiting from the sun and the open verandas was a rather nice change, and one that I’m sure I will see more as the days continue to warm.

The next day, of course, the clouds were back, and the previous day felt like a pleasant dream, save for the very real evidence of the inevitable sunburn splashed across my cheeks. What a wonderful (yet altogether expected) reminder of the beautiful weather.

Despite the fact that warm days have been so few and far between, there remains a glimmer of hope: One of the trees that I walk by on my way to the metro every day has started to bloom. This is a new development; it hasn’t been more than a few days since the first blossoms appeared. The many charming jardins of Paris have been recently planted as well, and bright tulip heads are starting to poke out of the soil. There’s something wonderful about the first moments of spring, when the world feels fresh and somehow new; I love it in Boston, and I’m sure I will love it here just as much.

I still need to remember to wear a coat, though. I can’t let myself get overconfident. Some flowers may be blooming, and that’s great for the long-term, but right now, unfortunately (though hopefully not for much longer), it’s still practically winter.