In the first five seconds of leaving the building, I felt like I was back in Oxford.
The ground was wet. The air was crisp and smelling of something wet and fresh at the same time. It was the intoxicating sense associated with the sweet taste of independence I first experienced as a 19-year-old.
Then I looked up and saw young green shoots on the trees outside our building. Ah, the first signs of spring finally.
All these in the five seconds before the wind brought my mind back to Evanston. Damn, it's already the wrong half of April and I'm still wearing my thickest winter coat.