Spring used to mean walking around bare-footed and avoiding whatever snow was left.

Spring used to mean the appearance of purpose crocus' up around the bins.

Spring used to mean the runoff would cause water to run over the driveway.

Spring used to mean finding a patch of grey grass that was dry enough to put down a blanket and lay in the sun.

Spring used to mean we could dry the sheets on the clothesline again.

Spring used to mean the chickadee would disappear and the robin would be back.

Spring used to mean the flowers would bloom on the lilacs.

Spring used to mean a dirty lawn that needed cleaning.

Spring used to mean spending breakfast out on the deck that faced south.

Spring used to mean getting hosed off after a day in the mud.

Spring used to mean seeing who could make it all the way around the bins without touching the ground.

Spring used to mean not wearing jackets or gloves and running my hands along the wooden fence just because I could feel it. 

I am sick of the constant wheel-on-pavement hiss in the background, the fact that I have to walk or drive to be in an all-green space, that I can't wake up and walk onto the deck in my pajamas, with a blanket wrapped around me, to look out to a space that is mine and that is not mine.

I need to get out of this claustrophobia.