It's that time of year when I've yet to trust the weather. I sweat in my layers of clothes and jacket and gloves and hat as I easily peddle along the river in the warm air. It doesn't suck away my body heat as it did last week, doesn't antagonize the skin on my face, or stiffen my muscles as I push again the frigid wind. My bikes cuts through the air easily, and the bugs are there waiting lovingly, waiting to jump into any orifice they can find, to sacrifice themselves to be spit out. Spring is beginning. Bug-filled, embracing spring.