In Michigan you can never say with certainty when winter is over and spring has begun, regardless of what the calendar might assert. And yet in March, with the milder days and increasing sun, most of us find cause for hope, but this year Christopher found cause for mourning.
“My hope for having snow days is now lost,” he said to me out of the blue. I nodded thoughtfully and, I hoped, neutrally; it’s rude to rejoice in another’s suffering.
“Now I have to hope for bus accidents or whatever.”