The slow churn of mechanical bells sounded outside my window yesterday for the first time this year. Until we got to the "the monkey chased the weasel" portion of the chorus, I was considering whether the city had muffled and punched up its tornado-siren test in Brookside.
But then a white van with peeling stickers came into view, bringing warmth on a day when the sun was intermittent and rain still felt likely -- welcome back, ice cream truck.
The first sighting of the ice cream van rumbling past my door is the seasonal equivalent of hearing "Play ball!" Sadly, there's no spring training, so I am not in midseason ice-cream-buying form.
I ran out the door without shoes, holding a few dollars in my hand, but in the time it took me to grab my wallet from upstairs, the driver had made too much progress down the block. He didn't see me, and I realized I couldn't chase the truck barefoot.
Next time, Chipwich -- you're mine.
[Image via Flickr: pink sherbert photography]