It only took two warm days for me to forget that winter exists.

Two days of sun and suddenly I’m emotionally invested in humanity again. The flowers are sunbathing like influencers on a luxury holiday. The bugs are back from the dead. The birds are screaming motivational speeches at 5 a.m.

Spring is a manipulative little optimist.
And I fall for it every year.

In the garden, everything leaned toward the light as if it had survived something dramatic. Tiny green things pushing through the soil with unreasonable confidence. The air smelled like new beginnings and mild delusion.

It was an office day. I spent hours watching ships transport goods along the Rhine River, long, patient vessels carrying containers full of things people urgently ordered online at 2 a.m. Meetings stacked on meetings. Words like “alignment,” “priorities,” and “let’s circle back” floated through the air.
Very adult. Very responsible. Mildly soul-draining.
By the time I came home, darkness was already stretching across the sky. Spring may flirt during the day, but it still leaves early.
And yet, no matter the state of global trade or my mental energy, the daily sausagedog walk had to happen.

Our dog does not believe in solo adventures. She is small, elongated, and emotionally high-maintenance. One human is suspicious. Two humans feel safer. Three humans? Ideal. A full security detail for 5 kilograms of determination.
Usually, I have to drag one child with me like an unpaid intern.
This time, both teenagers joined.
No negotiations. No sighing. Just jackets on and out the door.

And you know how walks are. To break the boredom, you talk. Or rather, they talk. And you pretend you’re not quietly collecting their words like precious artifacts.
I held the leash.
They held entire universes.

They talked about school. About friends. About teachers who clearly underestimate their brilliance. About plans for the future that involve changing the world, or at least surviving math class.
And I just listened.

Somewhere between the streetlights flickering on and the dramatic inspection of every single blade of grass, I felt it.

That quiet, dangerous happiness.
The kind that sneaks up on you. The kind that makes your chest tight in a good way. The kind that reminds you why you keep fighting through harder seasons.

Core memory unlocked.

These are the moments I store deep inside, like emotional emergency supplies for darker days. These are the reasons my heart keeps negotiating with life. The reasons I keep showing up. The reasons I want more time.

Spring is here.
Hope is back.
The flowers are sunbathing.
The birds are screaming optimism.
The bugs are rebuilding their tiny empires.
And I am walking behind a suspiciously shaped dog, listening to my children walk their way through life.
It’s ordinary.
It’s fragile.
It’s everything.
Two days of warm weather, and somehow, that was enough to remember why I love being alive.