Little more than a week ago they were shouting at me to spring forward, and even though the sun reflecting against my window gave the appearance of spring, the howling gusts of wind that rattled the frames told a different story. But I dutifully reset the clocks and gave up an hour of my life, so we could bask in the illusion of longer days and springtime, The calendar may have said spring, but no one told the weatherman. Up early and in the the dark again, I listened to predictions of rain, and maybe even snow flurries. When I got in my car to head for work the big drops of rain sitting on my windshield turned out to be ice that ripped my wiper blade. I blew a mental raspberry at Mother Nature, mumbled a few choice words under my breath, and said quite a few more when I paid for the replacement wipers, but I digress. The last few mornings have been mild enough to bring heavy fog that burned off when the sun came up. The crocuses have sprouted randomly across the front yard. I took a chance and I left the winter coat at home. When I left work it was warm enough I could even open the moon roof and breathe the fresh air. It seems like spring might be here at last. But I don't trust it. I'm knocking wood, crossing my fingers, and keeping my winter jacket where I can easily grab it.
~Elise Skidmore ©2021