The unmistakable signs of Spring abound. White buds appeared on pear trees almost overnight. The blossoms of redbud trees, now just barely visible, show promise of a full-on show in short order. Daffodils sprout like weeds, their yellow flowers a welcome splash of color among dull browns and greys. And even the road sides, the color of rust and straw, show signs of green grass awakening beneath the litter of winter leaves.
Yesterday’s temperatures soared, almost into summer territory, hitting or surpassing eighty degrees. The signs are there.
But the forecast for today is more rain and a high of fifty-three. Forecasters are not predicting we’ll see seventy degrees again until a week from today, and then just barely. I can’t say I’m unhappy with that, though. I had no interest in a Winter to Summer shift; I want a real Spring, a Spring with the aroma of budding trees and fresh grass. I want cool temperatures, temperatures suggesting long sleeve shirts or even sweaters. There are no forecasts that say we’ll see night-time low temperatures below forty degrees in the foreseeable future. So Spring seems to have arrived. It’s the right time of year for it.