Nice and steady, like an egg at the end of a spoon

As I shoveled us out yet again this morning, I held tight to the promise of summer. Flip another couple pages of the calendar, I bargained, and we'll be there. Sweet corn on the grill and dinner on the deck. Perennials peeking out of the soil, no folding chairs or traffic cones marking dug-out parking spaces. Sun on bare skin, sand between the toes. Windows open. Right . . . there.