What a difference a week makes!
Last Sunday I got up to bright blue skies and almost balmy temperatures. Indeed, the midday high exceeded 70˚F. As perfect a spring day, and as perfect an Easter morning, as anyone could wish.
This Sunday morning I arose to find the ground white with snow. Snow! Geeze! And cold—26˚F last time I checked. Brrrr! I immediately built a fire in the woodstove.
Of course my best friend Frank (God, how I miss him!) used to say that spring hereabouts never really gets settled in until you'd seen snow on the forsythia blooms. Well my forsythia is a yellow riot, scads of bright gold flowers on every arching branch—and the ground below them is fairly covered with snow, somewhere between a dusting and a skiff.
As usual, my dear old pal was right.