A case in point: here it is, the end of January, and I've been walking around outdoors in my shirtsleeves, often with the sleeves rolled up. This is the third day that temperatures have been around 70 degrees. Yesterday I saw a yellow butterfly go by, confirming that this wasn't a one-day fluke.
A butterfly. In January. Granted, winters are milder here in SW Arkansas than the Seattle area or (God knows) Milwaukee. But still, seventy degrees? It won't take a groundhog later this week to tell me winter's basically over, whatever cold snaps might intrude between now and true spring. The narcissus are already blooming, the pansies are thriving, and it won't be long till the daffodils join them.
Tomorrow I set out iris at Williamson St. We'll see how they do.
current reading: THE WOBBIT, AFTER LOVECRAFT: THE COLD CASE OF ROBERT SUYDAM (sequel to THE HORROR AT RED HOOK), MURDER IN CANTON (the final story in the Judge Dee series).