For as far back as I can remember, I’ve been helping move the seasons along. True, I am starting early this year, but there’s a lot to move, and I’m not as young as I was.
I refer, of course, to the city streets.
My name is Pearl. And I’m here on behalf of Spring.
There was a warm-up over the weekend, all the way to the low 30s, and the resultant thaw has created heavy slush, a thick crust on the land’s knee-deep snow, and a weakening of the glaciers.
The streets and sidewalks of my neighborhood are studded with glaciers, miniature, lifeless continents of snowy salty goodness.
To chop them down to size.
And somewhere, my sister is doing the same.
It’s a joint obsession, this wandering about, this clearing of the sewer drains, smashing blocks of ice, letting the sun jab its warm fingers into winter’s icy ribs.
How do I do it? It’s all in the heels, baby. Really, anyone can do it, although we do offer an apprenticeship. The weight of the boot, the angle of the approach – it’s all very scientific.
It’s also the willingness to get out there, to don one’s ice-choppin’ hat and practical gloves, to turn one’s pale face towards the sun and get the hell out of the house.
Since I was old enough to wander about on my own, I have done it for the cars, for the dogs, for the people.
But more and more, I suspect that I have done it for me.
Do I really think I’m helping make room for Spring?
At any rate, it gets me out of the house.
3 hours ago