The sun came out in mid-Missouri Tuesday morning, thawing the icy tundra of Columbia, Mo. — or so this Texas transplant perceived it — both the physical landscape and its inhabitants.
I could tell I didn’t believe the forecast on my phone because I still donned my thick-knitted sweater and a jacket, but I took off my snow boots as a sign of good faith. After weeks of clutching the collar of my coat to my neck, I unbuttoned my jacket and turned my face to the wind, which still pressed against my face but at least didn’t affect my capacity to feel my cheeks.
Rivers of melting ice ran down the sidewalks, sweeping away the slippery, white reminders of the cold. Clusters of students wound around puddles in the sidewalk, stepping gingerly on the damp grass that was finally shedding its winter coat.
We opened up the blinds in my afternoon class to let the light in, overwhelming the florescent hues with natural sunshine. We were happier when the sun came out, we told each other.
We shed our heavy coats and the dull sleepiness brought on by the cold. The grey skies pulled away, taking with them the bulky blanket of discontent that sometimes clouds our vision when the weather turns sour.
Monday had been a strange, heavy day, but on Tuesday, the sun came out, and we started to dream again about the onset of spring.
The sun shines brighter when the weather is warm. I don’t know how to explain it; it just does.