Or the jig is up.
The last two days here have revealed Mother Nature's secret. She will deliver spring this year. The air is milder, the wind a mere breeze, the birdies are tweeting. (Leslie can identify individual bird calls. Me - I can tell a mourning dove coo from a woodpecker tapping, but that's about it.)
The days are longer, the light in the sky less gray and more mellow, the cove a bright turquoise and not gunmetal gray. The cats have new nap spots for daytime; instead of downstairs close to the propane stove, they're taking over my bed upstairs under the skylight where the sun now streams in. I'm finishing up wool projects and thinking longingly of crocheting with cotton or silk.
Yeah, I know we're supposed to have a storm tomorrow. That's just a conspiracy by the supermarkets and the TV weather reporters to sell bread and boost ratings.
PS. It's now Friday. The rain is coming down in sheets, our street is flooded a quarter of a mile away, and the wind is howling. I still maintain it's a SPRING storm as there is no snow. Hope springs eternal, as they say.