Last weekend, Spousal Unit and I bought some lovely (albeit slightly battered) chairs for porch-sitting. We set them out on the deck, daydreaming of finding a small table to go with them and sitting out there on an early weekend morning with a pot of tea and good books. In the background of our minds, songbirds and lawnmowers uttered cries of spring.
The next day, the chairs received a liberal coat of snow.
We were less than pleased by this, as have been many Midwesterners and East Coasters. Where are the robins? Where is the brown-but-ready-to-green grass? Yesterday, there was a low of -1F. In shadier circles, I've heard talk of the best way to cook groundhog for a spring feast. (Better stay hidden till next year, Phil ol' boy.)
The only sign of spring this year has been on the horizon, too far to know if it's real or not: the earlier sunset.
At least it makes for some pretty pictures.