Yesterday, stepping outside, the wind is blowing hard, the air is fresh—it feels like a March wind, spring's herald, though it is only February, and early February at that. 

It reminds me of being a kid after a long Chicago winter, snow gone, feeling that spring wind, thinking about baseball and riding bicycles and sitting on the grass in the park, back against a tree, sun on my face, the earth warm and dry, the earth spinning so fast I feel I have to hold on—all the things that I love so much.  

I don’t play baseball, I don’t ride bicycles, I don't sit on the grass. It makes me wonder—what do I do?