Snow in late March isn't any big news. It always snows this time of year, even if it was 70˚F a few days ago. That said, I was mildly flabbergasted when I looked up from my desk yesterday afternoon and saw a blinding fury of jumbo snowflakes pouring from the pewter sky. A really intense early-spring squall pretending to be a blizzard.
I might not have been so startled if I'd have witnessed the start. But just glancing up and seeing the storm already in full force, the ground almost covered, and the island across from the cottage obscured behind a swirling curtain of white—well, I didn't know whether to laugh with glee, start praying, or dash outside and began gathering armloads of firewood in hopes of surviving until disaster rescue workers dug me and Moon-the-Dog out at some future date.
What I did, in fact, was grab my camera and hustle to make a few pictures before the whole shebang fizzled away. Anyone who's lived in Ohio for any length of time knows these early-spring snowstorms are really tempests in a teapot…over as quickly as they began.
The weeping willow took the flakes in stride, as did the lilac and spirea. But I thought the daffodils looked a little confused, or at least a bit chilled. In the end, however, the snow petered out and soon melted away. The day remained gray and cold. Moon and I went back into the house and I returned to my desk and work.
I guess March simply had to get in a parting shot—one final lick to say…I may be all-but-over for this year, but I'm currently still in charge, and I can snow on you any time I want.
Okay. I got the message.