February Weathers.

I kid you not, friends and fans of it smelling like April: at six o'clock tonight, it smelled like April. It was also nearly sixty degrees then. Right here and now, though, at eleven-something pm, it is 35 and falling, snow trying to get here before the front pulls through, and February in all the ways one might imagine. But it's not going to snow. And/or, if it does, it isn't going to much matter. Sorry, kids. I tried. I was hopeful yesterday. This afternoon, however, as I was coming back down Elm and across Bellmeade and had the windows happily down in the pickup, even though I knew it was, as they say, fixing to rain, I also sort of knew that when and/or if it somehow did snow, it could not possibly count for much, because of the sixty-degree ground, etcetera and et al. Oh, the hopes I had for the live-from-the-salt-trucks. Oh, the hopes I had for school not actually starting up tomorrow. Oh, how I have no ground upon which to complain if it is that my school starts tomorrow. People with real jobs have been in school for weeks.

Cold and rainy out there. Wouldn't be surprised to see a snowflake before we're done tonight. The forecast has some snow for tomorrow, too, but only some, and only maybe. Cold. Wet. February. More of the same tomorrow, I reckon.