There is a dead bumblebee named Bilbo on my office windowsill. He perished over the weekend because our student worker left a window open. Bilbo has inspired an entire two Instagram posts, but even sepia filters cannot bring the life back to his fuzzy fat body. Poor Bilbo.

Yellow dandelions dot the hollowed green beyond my window–a shallow bowl that contained a brisk game of ultimate frisbee on Monday. Today, no students study on blankets that patchwork the soft grass, but there is one couple sitting alone, noticeably twitterpated.

Yesterday, the rain poured in grey skeins from the sky, alternately puddling and rushing down the streets and summoning forth the dusty pink earthworms from their sodden homes.  But today, the sky is a bright cornflower blue and the white clouds shuffle lazily through the warm air.

The sun-heat, the blossoming cherry trees, the hum of flying insects, the smell of charcoal grills at dusk–all of this woos the senses, teasing of summer to come. I know that the rain will return. This is Seattle, after all, but I guard a tiny seed of hope in the recesses of my heart, shelter it, and water it gently.

One day, we will forget about winter entirely.