Those who know me well know that I believe spring begins on the day following the winter solstice.  Holding the thought that the days are getting longer keeps me from whining about winter, my least favorite season.  This week, I discovered a literary soulmate.

One of the characters in the book I’m currently reading was walking outdoors “into the blustery cold” of February in New York.  She asks, “Why is there February? . . . February should be eliminated altogether for the good of mankind.”

Time moves on in the story and it becomes March.  At this point, the same character notes that, “Seeing it’s March, it’s practically April, so it’s almost summer if you think about it.”  Yes!  I get that!

 

P.S.  There was a small flock of robins in the front yard this morning.  It must be nearly summer!