Springtime in Montevideo (we got a preview the other day and it was lovely...)

mood: sadder now than I was when I wrote this
music: a certain mix made by a very special friend
random word: memory
Springtime
I always thought
was red robins and daffodils
green grass
buds on bare branches
and lemonade.

Springtime
it seemed to me
would be the same almost anywhere.

As it turns out
Spring, like so many things here
has a bit of a different flavor in Montevideo.

It’s not the crocus breaking through the last velvet sheet of frost
but rather the bum emerging from behind his plastic tarp
carefully folding it to store away for the day
and with any luck, until next winter.

It’s not the seasonal allergies that stop up your sinuses
but the pedestrians strolling at a more leisurely pace than usual
leaving the sidewalks congested.

It’s watching the omnibus go by
without swallowing pangs of jealousy
because all those people are warmer than you.

It’s bicycles passing more slowly
no longer struggling to race the cold home.

It’s the antagonistic wind
that yesterday threatened to tear the scarf from your face
lulling to a breeze and
like a playful kiss
gently brushing the hair back from your eyes.

It’s wanting to burn jasmine incense
instead of cedar and sandalwood.

It’s the clunking of leather boots on brick crosswalks
giving way to the sprightly clicking of stilettos and sandals.

It’s the smell of shellac in the street
as you walk by the old carpenter
painting his cabinets on the sidewalk outside his shop.

It’s the almost forgotten sensation
of sweat on your shoulder
beneath the strap of your canvas bookbag.

It’s sitting outside at a café beside the plaza
ordering a peach milkshake instead of hot chocolate
and counting the signs of Spring in Montevideo.

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