This time of year, the days are longer and the extra light is surprising.
Winter ends, I go outside, and all of a sudden, I'm surrounded by neighbours. Spring conjures them up on the sidewalk.
I'm in my bathrobe, putting out the bag of dirty diapers, the green box full of wine bottles, or, later in the season, waving a shovel crazy-lady style at a cat defecating in the garden. Oh, hi.
In the winter, the cold makes everyone scurry home where long hours of darkness insulate us. Now, walking down the street is as revealing as taking a shower at the Y. Oh, hi, here we are, completely exposed.
It takes some adjustment.
In the face of all this light, I don't wear my glasses. Instant privacy. If I can't see the neighbourhood, it can't see me! I am regularly proven wrong, when blurry people wave at me and I wave back without knowing who they are.
But this willful myopia keeps the buzzing café across the street in its place, at a fuzzy remove.
That is – until I catch a glimpse of something interesting – like a couple actually getting married on the terrace outside Open da Night, or Thomas Fersen lining up for coffee, or neighbours I didn't even know were pregnant, out in the sun, with a brand new baby.
In that case, I run for my glasses and peer out the window, or better yet, rush right outside to get a good look.
Because, of course, I don't want to miss anything.
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