Punxsutawney's Prediction

The last couple days were absolutely gorgeous--exemplified by being able to read the daily English newspaper on my balcony as I listened to the wildlife changing around me. The river running through this quiet, mountain town was not a tiny winter stream in search of moisture but more like your little brother at bedtime, never keeping quiet or laying still. Just when I thought the joys of warmer temperatures, spring blooms, and t-shirts were making their triumphant return, a cold-prickly front moved in and dumped its contents. It looks like the river will have to take a nap until its visitor and cold temperatures melt away.

I know that February has only just begun, but it seems as though winter needs to sign a do not resuscitate order. Out of all the seasons, winter is the most immature. Winter always has to have the last say in things--just when you thought it grew up from all the harsh times it went through it decides to throw a tantrum, dropping 8 inches of powder. Winter is the season that everyone talks about, much like those childish junior high school students who you think will never grow up. Winter is a late bloomer. So late, in fact, that winter has to wait an additional season until physical changes start to occur.

With that said, I will be going skiing two out of the next three weekends. C'mon guys...you have to adapt! Let me know what Punxsutawney Phil sees. HAPPY GROUNDHOG'S DAY!