The first real warm spring night brought out the Bostonians that have spent a winter closeted in homes and apartments not moving their bodies much more than a few feet to go from the sofa to the refrigerator. They all come out onto the bike path with their pasty, white, doughy bodies and run and walk and ride their bikes and roller blades that haven't seen the light of day in 9 months. They struggle along drifting from side to side on the path. It's a painful thing to witness. Suddenly the bike path is a paradigm of their own bodies- a long clogged artery. I felt like a dose of Lipitor dodging the wads of grease and fat that move slowly through their bloodstream.

In a month or two they'll all be brown as berries, fit as fiddles and ready to crawl back into their holes on the first cold rainy day in September.

But in the bike path's favor I found out I dodged a bullet by taking the bike path in this morning when a truck careened out of control on my streets route and took out about 10 cars eventually coming to a stop in a ball of flames.

All in all it was still a pretty good commute. Even though one of the joggers, who was hacking and wheezing as I approached, turned and hocked a good lunga right onto my arm as I passed. And those four college age women, doing their best "Lindsay Lohan just out of rehab impression", who walked side by side completely blocking the path refusing to move for anyone who tried to pass- well, what can I say...

spring is here, sky is blue, birds all sing, as if they knew...