Sign o' the times

I was up in my bedroom this morning, stripping the sheets off the bed, when I heard a familiar yet too-long-unheard sound coming from outside. Incredulous with delight, I bounced across my room to the window and looked out to behold....THE STREET SWEEPER!!!!

My dears, spring has sprung, at least here in north central Indiana. It doesn't matter what you see first -- a fat, red-breasted robin, a jaunty daffodil, or a noisy, fossil fuel-powered street-sweeper trundling around the block -- any of those three is a true harbinger of le printemps and I've never been so glad to clap eyes on that particular piece of machinery.

I might be singing a different tune three months from now when summer vacation has started and it's still cool enough to sleep at night with the windows thrown open and the street sweeper goes chugging by at the unsprightly hour of seven o'clock a.m., but right now I'm so grateful winter's over that I'd go out and drive the thing myself if I had to. Which would be, you know, kind of fun. Not as thrilling as driving a zamboni, which is one of my life's goals, but still...