|Snow swirls as the river rises.|
Early March wouldn't be its predictable gnarly self without delivering at least a few final displays of wintry bluster. That's what we've had this morning—little snow-squalls of thick-flying oversized flakes that might cause newcomers and alarmists to think we've suddenly taken a u-turn back to mid-January. Or I should say the mid-January of a typical winter, though certainly not the mid-January of this particular winter's unseasonably-warm incarnation.
Anyway, it was all a ruse, a ploy designed to deceive us into believing spring's fair maiden is way off beyond the distant horizon…when it is, in fact, she is already sashaying down yonder hill—hips swinging, tresses flying, verdant green dress shimmering in the gleaming sun.
Nope, March's old trickery has lost its credibility; the gambit fails. Those of us who've been making this same circular journey for more years than we like to think are not in the least fooled by such weather chicanery. We recognize a last hurrah no matter how fervently it sputters and spits. Even now, merely an hour after all those blizzardy histrionics, the sky has cleared and every flake that fell is now melted into watery oblivion. Not a shred of would-be setback evidence remains. Moreover, by Tuesday the temperature will be in the mid-50s˚F and they predict we'll see 61˚F on Wednesday.
Nice try, March—but no sale.