I woke up this morning and the temperatures were in the teens. Suddenly, I felt sorry for the spring birds that came almost two weeks ago. I remember lying in bed and hearing the Canadian geese returning to Lake Winfield. Or looking out the bay window and spotting my first robin.
I think we're all confused.
I'm ready for spring. I no longer want to be remembering where I put my earmuffs, or mittens, or my knitted scarves.
I simply want to leave my house with only one layer of clothing on, not several. I want to put away the winter parkas, and the snow boots, and all the stuff that helped me get through these colder months.
I'm thinking of my garden and what I will plant there: zucchini, yellow squash, egg plant, several varieties of tomatoes, and perhaps this year another attempt at corn.
Winter has overstayed its visit, it is time for it to leave and let spring come in. Except I'm thinking that as what has happened in previous years, spring forgets to drop by, and instead we at least here in the Northeast can go straight from winter's biting cold to summer's steamy heat, without that gradual period that helps us make the transition from cold to hot.
And with a forecast of another wintry mix in the offering on March 28, I don't think March plans to go out like a lamb.
