We are not known for Spring here in Cincinnati.
It’s more of a tug-of-war between summer and winter, with some days beautifully warm and others ridiculously cold. Eventually summer wins, pulls winter into the mud pit and blat! it’s 90-zillion degrees.
So I’ve come up with my own definition of spring (sorry Mother Nature, you’re just not really on the job).
Spring (as far as I’m concerned) is one (maybe two) glorious days when I look out the window to the backyard and see tiny little buds on all the trees. Individually they aren’t much, but all together they paint the trees in a Crayola Spring Green brightness. If I’m lucky, the daffodils are chiming in and there are a few crocuses left in front of the house. If I’m super lucky, the pollen count isn’t too high (Ha! never happens that way in Cincinnati).
So, regardless of what the calendar says, today is Spring. Happy Spring, sweetie.