There are obvious advantages to the January thaw. As a reformed skiier (that is, I don't) and a could-be boarder (that is, I've never had much desire to brave the cold to try), and a strong proponent for winter hibernation (that is, everything I need to do, including exercise, can be done inside until the temperature rises), I love seeing the green grass and walking outside with scarves serving only as fashion acessories. Being able to stand outside a nightspot destination without losing feeling in my fingers or toes makes me happy - choosing a hot caffeinated beverage for its aromatic appeal more than the need to warm up is a perk.

On a quick walk downtown early this afternoon, I added another item to my mental list of things I like about unexpected winter warmth.

A busker. A BUSKER! Perched on a small staircase on College Street, a fedora on his head, a turquoise electric guitar strapped to his chest. A small amplifier on the sidewalk, piping out blues riffs and jazzy licks.

I don't usually see electric buskers around these parts, even during the summer months. It all tends to be acoustic on Church Street, and no one seems to dare attempt to take over the pan flute man's territory on the waterfront. So Burlington blues are rare outside the occasional club gigs.

But it was perfect for the feel of the day. The drip-drop melt of what little snow remained, gray skies and bare trees. Yet the pedestrian desire to be outside, to establish contact with the world during what normally would be a day of hiding from others inside. The blues - melancholy yet vivid as they bounce and echo off the gray and brick building walls. And the splash of color provided by a old-school turquoise and white color-schemed guitar.

I hope he picked up the huge smile that was sent his way from beyond the cars and across the street.