Not a fan of winter, here. Gray days, leafless trees, freaking-cold weather–they make me…grumpy. I’m not kidding, either.
I hate winter.
For the last couple of days, though, I’ve been able to go outside without putting on my jacket. You know, we only really own jackets here in the deep South. Winter coats live in the depths of our closets, and they are only to be brought out on days that most Northerners would consider wearing shorts and t-shirts.
I’m feeling hyperbolic this morning. Can you tell?
Sunday was warm. In the seventies. The sky was blue. There were actually buds on the trees. And me…I got the Gotta work in the yard, woo-hoo! bug. So I worked in the yard. All day. It was divine.
Then I came back into the house and looked at the calendar, which happened to still read January. There is no way this is going to last.
Either Mother Nature is messing with me, toying with my affection for clear blue skies and leafy green trees, or she knows I need a break–if only for a few short days– in order to make it to March.
This is why February always seems like the longest month of the year.