April: you fickle and wonderful month.
Just the other day it was seventy degrees,
Hot enough for sweat and heat prostration
Due to winter transitioning to summer with zero stops.
But, oh, you silly witch, April.
You’re not done with us yet.
New England is in its psychotic time of year:
Heat in the morning while scraping frost from
windshields;
Air conditioning in the afternoon while riding with car
windows down.
(Don’t judge us; it’s why you get sick from extreme
temperature fluctuations and we don’t.)
Mere minutes after we have declared Spring to be sprung,
After seeding our lawns,
After setting plants on porches and patios,
After starting Spring sports season,
After declaring barbecue season officially open,
It snows.
Don’t shake your heads nor wag your fingers nor call us
crazy.
We are prepared.
The snow blowers are still in garages,
The ice melt containers are still next to doors,
The gloves and hats and scarves and parkas are still in
closets,
The shovels are still handy.
We may be foolhardy,
But we are not foolish.
Spring may be on the calendar,
But winter is on the ground once again.
For now.
Tomorrow it will be beach weather.
It’s how Mother Nature keeps New England sane.
