Spring's Edge.

It wouldn't seem right to get anybody out there in the viewing audience too excited, but a quick glance at the ten-day shows a different season altogether. It's been hard winter so long I don't even know what to do with a forecast that looks like that. Now: don't (yet) go up into the attic for the short sleeves or anything like that—it's not time, as it would have been in grad school, to break out the fry daddy and deep-fry Ore-Idas on the porch. It'll still be flannel weather next week. It'll be wet. Your heater will still kick plenty on. You'll still want that thermos of coffee at four in the afternoon, will still look sidelong at the cabinet when the rain moves in and consider a dollop of brandy—if you don't have to go to work the next day. But and but and but and but and but, friends and fans of budding trees and bulbs coming along, there are consistent fifties and occasional sixties out there. There is, after these long months, the promise of a different pattern.

We shall see.