My favourite day of the year

When I was a kid, living at home in our bungalow in Ottawa, my very favourite day of the year was the day I would step out, in the spring, and feel the warm spring air on my skin and realise it was warmer outside than it was inside. It usually occurred in late April or early May, and it usually preceded our weird mid-spring heat wave.

I have always loved summer and disliked—to avoid the word hated—winter. I am always cold and I can never seem to warm my hands and feet before May. So the warmth is always a welcome relief. But there's more. The short days and long, long periods of darkness affect me, though not severely, acutely. I have low levels of energy, I get grumpy, I feel lonely. And I have been like that since I can remember. So feeling the heat of the oncoming summer was a promise I wanted to hold, like a security blanket, close to my face and heart.

Now my favourite day of the year comes much earlier. Today was that day. It was that day when the sun touches my face and it feels warm. When the fact that the sun actually heats our planet was not just theoretical in my mind but felt by my body. As I walked to Maïa's daycare, pushing the chariot, I felt the sun and knew. That it was almost time. That the dark days are on their way out. That the earth was tilting, ever so slowly, back toward the sun. That I will one day be able to leave the house within five minutes, without snowsuits and hats and mittens and scarves and boots. That joy was returning.