|Sure, the sleigh is fun, but I'm sick of hauling wood. So's the dog.|
Two weeks ago or so we were sitting on the porch with the dogs, digging the sun, spring fevering, and everyone was joking around, Ha ha, global warming's A-OK with me!
Yesterday started out sunny and pleasant, 45 degrees F, a typical pre-spring day. The onion grass was growing.
|Onion grass: growing.|
And this morning it's snowing and the schools are closed. Sunday the low will be 10.
See, March, this is why people don't trust you.
Winter's weird to begin with. Look at this icicle. The little tree it's on is in an empty field. It's hanging from teeny branches. There's nothing to drip but sap -- out of teeny twigs?
Yes, it's an icicle, not a condom or something; I tapped it and it broke, taking the twig with it.
So winter has this bizarre sense of humor, as we know, and March is the room of its house where it plays the nastiest tricks. Thanks, stupid winter.
One nice thought: The cloud of gnats that swarmed around me and the big dog had to have gotten an even worse surprise than we did. Go ahead, winter, kill all the bugs around here; that's fine with me. Heh heh heh.