Why can't we just have two seasons: spring and fall?

The transition from winter to spring is my favorite time of the year, whether in New York, Paris or Sacramento. I'm a summer baby, and autumn's last hot August nights before school started used to be my pick -- not to mention I get one excruciating week of hay fever every April.

This weekend was such a nice break from the snow and sleet that I almost felt like I should be wearing shorts. But only almost. I took a walk through Central Park on Saturday, which surprisingly still has blocks of ice lying around. There was man beautifully playing a cello under the bridge by the Met, and the acoustics right where he was sitting were so hauntingly perfect.

Sunday was supposed to be my "hole up in the library so I don't fail midterms" day, but the sun and 55-degree weather were just beckoning me out to play. I scoped out potential brunch spots in the East Village (the last Sunday trying to find somewhere without an hour-long wait was just painful) and stopped for lunch at Punjabi Deli, which had pretty good chicken tikka masala. I was a little disturbed by the way he microwaved the food in a styrofoam container though (as are Yelpers, it would appear).

I'm excited for the winter chill to wear off so I can bask in the spring sun and warmth, probably in Sheep Meadow with all the other students in the city, once late March and April roll around.