Late March.

That dread gray March I've been threatening all month is what we're due for the weekend: no real spread between the low and the high, and steady to near-steady rain. Our traditional mid-March weather sets in for late March. They're not yet forecasting a freeze, but I wouldn't be surprised to see some hand-wringing on the other side of whatever all this turns out to be. It comes every year: the trees bloom, we slide back towards winter. Coffee. Chili. Wine. Good beer. Crappy beer is for last week's weather, is for seventies and eighties. Good beer is for the November they want to drop down on us the next few days. I've tarped over the firewood, have designs on a Saturday morning built for writing instead of planting. The Toad sleeps. The novel cooks. It's slightly warmer right now than it was at sunset. Cloud cover will do that. We're about to see a lot of cold rain. Do not despair. Though we're late to this, we always, always do this. This is March. It's still March. It's about to look like it.