"You are where you are. And the sun comes up, but it never went down..."

May 1st. Sunrise 5:16 am, Sunset 10:23 pm...already 15 hours of daylight. It's "spring", but it keeps on snowing.

But the long hours of daylight melt each day's snow from the roads, trails, and roofs with ease by e.o.d. each evening. There's a sense of urgency in town as people preemptively put away their skis and winter gear and push the envelope of weather-appropriateness by unveiling their shorts and skirts, pairing wool socks with Keens instead of Sorels, traipsing through the break-up-and-thaw, and riding bikes to work.

Its that time of year, a friend says, when sunlight encases your weekend bonfire like parentheses do a trite aside, or cocktail-ed weekday nights slide easily into sandbag-eyed weekday mornings before midnight's even been noticed and flown past...

My first experiences of spring in big North can be correlated with this sense of 'days falling into days with reckless abandon'. In one sense its glorious. This timelessness recalls the days of the summer previous that flash through my memory with a certain 'saudade', and hint at the ones to come in my subsequent months up north; where daylight never fades and sleep becomes accessory. But alternatively, there's a stuck-in-the-mud mentality to this notion of time flying by before I can grab it; as if I shan't be wasting any more time doing what I'm doing, which is settling for anything less than sublime...but "no-night" leaves no time for face-planting into the commitment of forging new professional bridges. Days become quickly packed with adventures, events and goings-on, leaving me with half-hearted interest in the fact that I might be becoming complacent...dipping only my tippy-toe into the dream-pool and standing on the cold, coarse sand.

Here the ubiquitous sunlight sustains the ability to surround you in a sound and satisfying way, and leave you right where you are. For the time being at least.