So there I was yesterday morning, standing at the kitchen sink, washing some pots and pans, looking out the window at the gray and gloomy day outside. It was such a change from the day before, which had started out cloudy and rainy, but turned out sunny and beautiful. It had, actually, been rather hot the day before, but that morning was cold enough to require a coat when I took my Netflix DVD down to the mailbox.
Something white floated past the window, and I squinted at it, wondering what it was. A small feather from some hapless bird? A early bit of dandelion fluff? There was another, and another! Was a wind blowing the blossoms from the cherry tree? But it had only just blossomed! Surely we weren't losing all the flowers yet!
And then, a horrible thought crossed my mind.
That couldn't possible be snow, could it? I ran to the back door, standing in the open doorway with my head sticking out, staring at the white fluff slipping past me, straining to bring such tiny bits into focus. Was it fluffy or spiky? Soft or icy?
I couldn't tell. They kept disappearing as they fell.
I ruthlessly suppressed the bad words that wanted to slip out and went to tell my children.
It was snowing.
Stupid spring weather.