Nimble Air

When spring came, after the hard winter, one could not get enough of the nimble air. Every morning I wakened with a fresh consciousness that winter was over. There were none of the signs of spring for which I used to watch in Virginia, no budding woods or blooming gardens. There was only - spring itself; the throb of it, the light restlessness, the vital essence of it everywhere: in the sky, in the swift clouds, in the pale sunshine, and in the warm, high wind - rising suddenly, sinking suddenly, impulsive and playful like a big puppy that pawed you and then lay down to be petted. If I had been tossed down blindfolded on that red prairie, I should have known that it was spring.

- Willa Cather, My Antonia

I took a long bike ride through Prospect Park today, the sun beating down my throat as I looked up at it, mouth agape, and glinting off my handlebars. I felt the same wistfulness and emotional swell that Jim describes here. Spring makes us instantly alive, young, and agile.