The scent of molasses was in the air this morning, but given yesterday i surely didn't expect it to snow. (New England, i should have known better.)
Yesterday, out in the beautiful "this feels like spring" i was thinking that actually i was ready for it to be spring (such a betrayal to my winter loving). I thought perhaps after the last snowstorm, which was followed too soon by a long rain, i was ready for all the dirty snow to melt and the ground to be covered with fresh bright green and colors ... but no, the snow still brings me joy, never fails. And really, i still think of March as a winter month (though honey i suspect it'll be springy on your birthday given how late in the month it is). But i'm sad that there is actually a niggling part of me that stares out the window at the falling snow and is tired of it. This is not right. I'm supposed to love the winter. Boo on a desire for spring (not that spring isn't lovely, and of course i'll love it when it gets here). I'm one of the few that isn't aching for spring, and it's supposed to stay that way.