I know it’s spring because I no longer have any skin on my right knee. And it hurts.
Every year I feel obligated to perform an interpretive dance for a randomly-selected set of neighbors, entitled “Why I am Much Better Suited to Running on Nice Safe Treadmills, Rather Than Bumpy, Treacherous Outdoor Surfaces”.
sigh An afternoon of beautiful, sunny, mid-70-degree weather, wasted…
Today had two surprises: unseasonable warmth (about 70 degrees F), and the bird singing its idiot head off when I woke two hours before sunrise was not the usual robin, but a mourning dove. Damn bird, I lay in bed muttering, learn to spell; you’re not THAT kind of morning bird.
Why do ANY birds sing two hours before sunrise, anyway? I can’t imagine any other birds are flying around looking for nookie or a fight when it’s still dark out. So what exactly is the point?
I know it’s spring because …
… I didn’t turn up the heat (kept at 60 except for a couple of hours in the evening) when I got home from work.
Oh, and the fact that it went up into the 70s today.
(And, yeah, snow is in the forecast, but I don’t care, because it’s spring.)