The weather gods smiled on Kyiv the last two days. The stingy winter sun kicked loose some warmth, the February gloom took a vacation. The insulation hastily applied during December's deep freeze was just as hastily scraped off as windows popped open to capture the maddening first whiff of spring.
On Sunday, folks were strolling down Khreschatyk in shirt sleeves. By Monday, every decent park bench in the city had hosted at least one alfresco kiss of lovers coming out of hybernation.
That was the day Kyiv was warmer than Tehran or Washington and just a degree off Atlanta's high. Blame El Nino, global warming, plain dumb luck. On second thought, why blame anything at all?
It won't last, of course, which is why March is no one's favorite month. The false spring will retreat, to be replaced by snow or sleet or endless freezing rain. Fooled into stowing our winter coats, we will reach for them once more, feeling betrayed and muttering darkly about a winter that just won't end.
The strange thing is that this happens almost every year, and we fall for the same trick every time. Each February snow melt is the season's last, each storm is the winter's final gasp, until the next one snows us under. We never learn, and frankly wouldn't want to. Groundless optimism is a rare luxury.
