Hmph

It is May 10. By all rights and according to the calendar it should be Spring. Printemps. Primavera. Fruejahr. That would entail warm afternoons bracketed by cooler mornings and evenings (a feature I love about both Spring and Autumn), clear blue skies, bright cheery sun, and bursting young life everywhere.

There is a little tree in the front yard that I can just see as I sit in my window. It is all abloom with white flowers, signalling the arrival of the growing season. The fierce wind, however, has ripped many of the blossoms off the tree, tossing them to the ground, which is now covered in white...resembling snow. The sky is heavy and grey. The sun hasn't been seen in a few days. The temperature is unreasonably (and unseasonably) low. The lovely plants we bought are too young and tender to withstand these harsh conditions. I am not amused!

Part of my miff is wrapped in the knowledge that in just a few weeks time I am going to be complaining just as fitfully about the heat and humidity. I'm Canadian afterall I suppose, and weather is integral to my state of mind.