I know that Punxsutawney Phil (alias The Groundhog) did not see his shadow on the 2^nd of the month. This is generally a good omen for an early spring.

When I walk home from the nearest train stop after a day downtown, and I notice that it’s still LIGHT – I mean after 5:00 – I’m positively elated.

I’ve also been very aware of the phenomenon — maybe it’s a Midwestern thing — that after wearing soot and snow for several months, people start caring about washing their cars again.

Sometimes their cars even seem to announce that they’re ready for a good scrubbing.

At this time of year, I’ll see “W-A-S-H   M-E” scrawled out on windshields or fenders.  And once these words have been spelled out with freshly smudged fingers or gloves, car owners usually follow up with action.

All these things remind me that spring is just around the corner. And I’m probably not alone here, but spring makes me feel hopeful.

Yes, I know there will likely be some more snow. And I’m under no illusion that I should take all my nice sweaters to the dry cleaner and bag them up until next winter, but I look forward to these little signs. I like to think I’m moving into a period of possibilities.

Come on, the Cubbies and White Sox position players are reporting to SPRING TRAINING this week.

My niece is texting me about coming home for SPRING BREAK soon. I’m sure it will cost me, but I’ll gladly pop for Korean barbecue, which she loves, and the chance to commiserate about the lack of date-able guys. (Now forty years apart, who’d think we would have this in common?)

I’m starting to think about yard sales or friends who are giving away planters and things I can put on my deck.

While I don’t normally follow college basketball, I’ll find myself listening to sports radio hosts pontificate about brackets for the impending March Madness.

I’ll step up my feelers about spring holiday plans and try to get myself invited to a seder.

I’ll find myself slowing down as I walk through the aisles of Sauvignon Blancs and Viognoiers at my favorite liquor store. Winter is for Cabs and Malbecs and Multipulcianos. I only seem to think of spring and summer for drinking white wines.

I’ll find myself looking for reasons to be outside. If I need to slip a Netflix envelope into the mailbox, my attitude is different than it was only a few weeks ago. I’m happy just to walk to a mailbox NOW.

And my downstairs neighbor doesn’t have to worry any more about me going deaf. I no longer have to crank up the volume on my TV so it can be heard over the sound of my furnace when the thermostat triggers it to kick in.

I know that we’re still weeks away from seeing irises and crocuses and other early spring blooms pop out along the front lawns in my neighborhood. It might be two months before I start buying produce at farmers’ markets.

But my heart tells me I can really believe that spring is coming.

Even the tiniest, most fickle or most personal sign of spring is no small thing.