It is Next Year! The damp, hopeful air of spring training 2006 has survived to christen the lungs of all of us whose internal clocks chime cuck-oo around this time each year.
The last time I took a breath as deep and wondering as this, the light mist left from fireworks was mingling with the earliest morning soot of south Chicago, invigorating the air with a confounding sense of the possible. Something entirely as spectacular was happening in a small bar in New York City, where two long-separate lovers were conjoined.
For the first time since October 26, 2005, it feels safe let out the deep breath I took that night.