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

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