Throw out your arms and breathe deeply. Feel the warmth (if a little too much too early).
I was looking around for poems about spring for this post and found surprisingly little appropriate. The links kept circling back to the words of a dour native St. Louisan who insisted that "April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain." No wonder he spent most of his adult life in dank England. We will revel in our days like this.