In many parts of the world, there are signs that spring is arriving. Despite the fact that on February 2, Punxsutawney Phil predicted that there will be six more weeks of winter, I’ve never trusted groundhogs (and they know why). The crocuses peeking out of my window boxes are telling me otherwise.
Of course, the thing about the weather is that basically we know fuck all about it. Fancy pants weather men and girls can make all the predictions they want, but it’s really more dumb luck when they get it right. And when you throw into the mix the effects of climate change, we pretty much have no idea what the weather will be even later this afternoon, let alone tomorrow or a fortnight from now.
But both the calendar and the temperatures have been hinting that soon it shall be spring. This is good news for most of us. While March can mean wind and rain, the fact that it is usually the month where the green begins to return to our world means that we will generally feel more chipper and spritely.
The vision of flowers emerging from the cold ground is really a sight to see. If you weren’t clever enough to get your gardener to plant spring bulbs last autumn, shame on you. You must do better.
If by the time you read this, the weather has turned again, don’t despair. I promise at some point it definitely will be spring and the Earth will at least appear to be a more pleasant place.
Everyone Needs an Algonquin 
I see from your link that Punxsutawney Phil lives in a place called Gobbler’s Knob. I am wondering if you could perhaps translate that for me using your Anglo-Amercian lexicon, if only to help get a certain reoccuring image from out of my mind.
I’m afraid I can do nothing to remove the image from your mind. But now you have some insight into why I take issue with groundhogs.
Yours,
Agatha