Birkenstock bliss and the first day of Spring
The optimist in me broke loose on Thursday, the first day of spring. At noontime, with the bright sun outside and the cloudless sky, I dredged up the long lost, close-to-my-heart Birkenstock Sandals and let them breathe after the several cold, snowy months of repression they had endured in a cardboard box tucked into my closet. The suede was worn, and although dirt from last summer remained on the soles, and I couldn’t quite tell if the buckles were too loose or too tight, my feet were free once again.
I walked on these specially-molded, form-fitting clouds of comfort the entire day. The wind did whip between my toes, and every so often the scattered wet patches of ground would deliver a frozen reminder that yes, it actually was only March 20, but I could still feel the love I had felt so long ago. Love that spoke of sweet-nothing days and hazy nights, of drinks in the shade and long walks through the park and French’s Hollow, resting between the trees and the memories, and then a quick dive beneath the pool waters before coming up again for that stifling, summer breath…winter, it seemed, was finally losing its battle.
Losing, that is, until the earth turned as it always does (stupid me, I had forgotten that the dark will come after the light, without fail) and the evening struck once again. The winds, which I could endure beneath the sun, took a ferocious turn for worse, and as the temperature went from tranquil to glacial, I could remember why my mother would yell at me every time I tried to escape the house with sandals – not sneakers – on. It was still winter, although technically spring, and with it, bare feet are never safe.
In the end, it had been a bittersweet reunion – summer feels now ever closer than it did before, but the cold digits and winds still hold it back. Tempted and teased by memories, idle footwear and day dreams, the wait grows harder with each passing day that brings it closer, and I cannot wait to welcome it back. The winter snows have their own charm, but it can only last for so long before the world ices over and even that snow-globe-like feeling is lost in the snow banks dirtied by passing cars and plows. There is but one season left to wait, and with it, the warm weather will surely come, the sprouting greens, the birds that once flew south and the frozen streams bubbling back to life. It’s become a yearly lesson in patience, and once again, I wait for now and keep my Birkenstocks at the door.
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