The False Spring

"...I could never be lonely along the river. With so many trees in the city, you could see the spring coming each day until a night of warm air wind would bring it suddenly one morning. Sometimes the heavy cold rains would beat it back so that it would seem that it would never come and you were losing a season out of your life. This was the only truly sad time in [insert your city here--Hem's was Paris] because it was unnatural. You expected to be sad in the fall. Part of you died each year when the leaves fell from the trees and their branches were bare against the wind and the cold, wintry light. But you knew there would always be the spring, as you knew the river would flow again after it was frozen. When the cold rains kept on and killed the spring, it was though a young person had died for no reason.

In those days, though, the spring always came finally but it was frightening that it had nearly failed."

-Ernest Hemingway

I've had this feeling about NYC, lately. Though somewhat different, as it's more that a long spring is holding up the beginning of summer, the sentiment remains. It's always seemed to me that we don't even have much of a spring, maybe a week; it usually goes straight from freezing winter to sweating summer. Not this year.

Pretty sweet, huh? Obviously, I think so. Came across this piece when skipping through the books of Hemingway's I have. This is from A Moveable Feast--memoirs of his younger days as an aspiring and then somewhat famous writer, after WWI. His novel The Sun Also Rises, as well, is about this era in his life. I recommend more the latter than the former.

Right, so as you've noticed, I haven't been on here much in the last few months. Suffice it to say, between finally getting back on a routine with school stuff and the fact that I haven't had the internet at home for a while, I just haven't been able to or really had the desire. Don't worry, I don't love you any less.