Except for the fact that I am not migrating, I guess I am becoming a snowbird in my old age because I sure am ready to chase this beautiful spring weather. My bike riding has taken a winter hiatus, but it is time for it to come out of hibernation. I dream of riding with a huge wooden box affixed to a rack at the front of Betsy Ross, and me, cruising over cobblestone streets with the clickty-click of pedaled revolutions and a non-stop smile. I'd fill my box with fresh cut flowers, baguettes and fromage, books from the library, dry cleaning, to do lists, and letters to post. I'd wear cotton skirts that flutter in the wind and a tiny barrette to keep my bangs at bay. I'd ride for hours, stopping only to complete errands, peruse bookshops and thrift stores, and maybe once again to rest on a grassy knoll, break off pieces of crusty bread, and slather them with buttery cheese before devouring the whole loaf. Maybe I'd have a quilt in my basket too, and if I were especially tired, I could spread it out in a sunny spot and lie down. I'd close my eyes and make a game of naming the feeling of contentment enveloping me: peacefullfillment, satis-lovely, wondertastic! Then, the sun-smell, wafting up from the warm earth, would put me to sleep like a lullaby.