I think every ten-degree increment has its own, distinctive personality.
The teens are cruel, and the 20s are unforgiving. The 30s are bone-chilling, and the 40s are gloomy. The 50s are hopeful, and the 60s . . . well, the 60s are joyful. When the 60s come after a long winter, giving us an early — albeit brief — taste of the spring to come, the effect is magical.
We took a leisurely afternoon stroll today as the thermometer hit the 60s, and it was as if a sleuth of bears had awoken after a long, cold winter of hibernation. People were out jogging, riding their bikes, and skateboarding in the unfamiliar sunshine. People clad in shorts were washing their cars, with the radio playing in the background. And children’s toys had been removed from basements and garages and put outside where they belong, to add some color and fun and shouts to the suburban milieu.
The 60s will be gone tomorrow, as our temperature once again plunges downward. But I sure enjoyed today’s brief glimpse of warm weather.