A treatise on spring

It’s not actually spring yet, not officially. But who the hell cares. The temperatures have wiggled out from the single and sub-zero digits, crept past freezing, and settled in the forties. It’s glorious. The snow is melting, mostly. And it’s not snowing anymore. It actually rained the other day. Well, spritzed and fogged to be specific but it’s the thought that counts. I can see grass and the sun is shining. If it weren’t for the mud, the lingering snow, and the frozen dog and rabbit poop blooming in my yard (good lord is there a lot of rabbit poop for my never hardly seeing a damn rabbit)… well, it’d be perfect. I know that the forties and snow on the ground really should be still considered chilly or even cold. And I know I should probably still be covering my head and wearing gloves. But… at least I haven’t got out my summer dresses, as badly as I want to. It’s spring. That’s all that matters to me.