It’s spring, but the wrong kind. More April in Bergen than Paris.

The weekend was nice. The weekend was great. As I drove around, spending too much money on stuff I’d put off buying for too long, I actually had to roll my car window down a little, to cool off. It got up to about 70° (that’s about 20° for you Celsius types).

But yesterday and today have been cool and overcast, with some rain. “Cool” in this case means temps in the 40s, which would have seemed tropical a couple weeks back. So I’m being unreasonable. I admit it freely.

My motives, however, are honorable. I want to go out and take my evening walks. And in my present health condition, still dragging the corpse of the flu around behind me, I refuse to tempt fate by walking in a chill breeze. Especially if it’s drizzling.

And I’ve come to the conclusion that working out on my ski machine in the basement actually causes me to get sick. Maybe there’s mold in the air down there.

Or maybe I’m just sick of the ski machine.

In any case, I watch for the sun as the watchman on the city wall waits for the dawn.

I’m sure that’s a biblical citation, but I can’t find it in my Cruden’s.

I bet I could find it if the sun was shining.