The ground is white. The trees are white. The sky is white. None of this is surprising as we’ve had three nor’easters in 10 days. Looking out, you would be perfectly reasonable in concluding it was the middle of January rather than the middle of March.
I am very tempted to launch into something about “Now is the winter of our discontent…” and comment that Richard III (and Shakespeare) didn’t know the half of it. But I won’t as that would peg me as an idiot who didn’t understand that the whole speech referred to the end of the country’s time of troubles, with a new “glorious summer” about to burst on the scene.
A glorious summer is not about to burst around here any time soon. There are rumors of yet another storm for next week. Adding to the icy, slushy misery is that this weather is descending right when Lent is getting to its sloggiest point. My resolutions and reforming spirit are hanging by wispy threads. All this white outside (which, once inside, becomes salty, dirty puddles on the kitchen floor) is doing nothing for my general morale.
To illustrate how broken I am at this moment: Normally, I am a snow shoveling fanatic. I HATE ice and snow on the driveway. I have been accused of being more than a little compulsive about clearing it all off. My reaction to this last storm? “Just leave it. I suppose it will melt sometime…”
In the past I have completely agreed with Elliot in his “April is the cruellest month.” It’s so easy to be fooled in April by the light and sun and neglect to look at the thermometer, which is only hovering at about 42 degrees. But I don’t look, with the result that I don’t dress warmly enough. By the end of the day, I’m cold and damp and feeling hard done by two-faced April.
This year, however, I’m voting for March in the cold and cruel category. Unless, of course, April decides to add to the snow total. Then I may just have to hide under the covers until Glorious Summer comes to save us all.