The iced-coffee cup languishes, half-forgotten in my left hand -- merely the excuse for the walk, not really the reason.
As I pass, a radio in a nearby garage blares out, "... working too hard can give you a heart attack-ack-ack-ack-ack...". It fades in the distance, having done its task of providing the theme music for the day, Mohammed's Radio writ into real life.
I dance around the dog poop of former days, left by owners too lazy (or cold, or both) to clear it, and then encased into winter's fossil record, to be found by the unwitting archaeologist's shoes of spring.
Even the medium-weight leather jacket, far from my warmest coat, is just a bit too much for the day. I leave it on anyway, enjoying the novel sensation of excessive heat with no guilt.
As I approach home, there is nothing but the sound of gentle warmth -- a mix of birdsong and water, everywhere water. Dripping from trees, pouring through downspouts, burbling along a suddenly-once-again-flowing brook. There will, no doubt, be winter days yet to come. But for now, I'll take this prophecy of spring as a fine way to start the day...