Last week's rain wasn't strong enough to melt all the snow. The sun peaked out from time to time and the birds were singing, but Helena had already pinpointed the surest sign of spring in the streets:
"Mommy, mommy, where's my bicycle? Can you take out my bicycle? Can I ride my bicycle to the park, Mommy? I want to ride my bicycle. Where's my bicycle, Mommy?"
So I pulled the bicycle out of storage, and we went to the park with the bicycle.
Of course, our day (Saturday), was put to bed under a fresh, fluffy white coverlet. The park is one big mudpuddle and the hopscotch grids in the schoolyard still lie under an icy crust, but Helena knows where her bicycle is and for the time-being that's all that matters.