Spring hot, steppe gilets not

Vincent van Gogh's almond blossom, 1890. Image: wikimediaThis year I didn't recognize the spring by the flowers. Not by the primeli in the meadow, not by the kitchen bowls in the garden and certainly not by the dark red stems, from which my peonys soon sprout. I recognized it by the people. On an unspeakable mass of people who just hung their winter jackets in the closet to walk outside their lighter transition jackets. And you know what. They c…