So I’m walking down the Greenway yesterday, walking past the crocuses blooming by Atlantic Wharf, the maintenance guys preparing the fountains, the office workers sitting at outdoor tables, and my stomach is in a knot. I hung a right on Hanover Street, where a nice woman planted outdoor flower boxes and one restaurant after another flung open their windows to the street.
The clouds gave way to sun. The temperatures nudged toward the 70s. And everyone was smiling, locals and tourists, young and old, the innately happy and the perpetually put-upon. The whole scene, this entire city, felt like an old Dr Pepper commercial, the joyful throngs about to break into rousing song and dance.
Which leads to the one simple question I now solemnly ask: Has everyone lost their minds? And another: Don’t you understand that we are profoundly and inexorably screwed?
I get it, the mood, the joy, the very lightness of being. March feels like May, it has barely snowed all year, and the temperatures have set one benevolent record after another. So you’re all chuckling to yourselves, thinking we’ve done something you didn’t think possible: We cheated Old Man Winter.
You even have your cute little theory, that because last winter was so awful, this winter is our make-up call. Life always evens out, doesn’t it?
You have reached the limit of 5 free articles in a month
Stay informed with unlimited access to Boston’s trusted news source.
- High-quality journalism from the region’s largest newsroom
- Convenient access across all of your devices
- Today’s Headlines daily newsletter
- Subscriber-only access to exclusive offers, events, contests, eBooks, and more
- Less than 25¢ a week