Ants In My Pants

Mid-March in the Eastern United States brings both tantalizing hints of spring, and reminders that we're foolish if we think it actually is spring. The weather can change in a matter of minutes from glorious to God-awful, from hopeful to hopeless, and from balmy to "blow off the roof shingles" brutal. I don't deal well with winter, and this tantalizing hints thing isn't making me a ball of good cheer either. I want nothing lower than 60 degrees, and it would be nice if it capped off at about 80. Maybe 81. 82 tops. And I want this most of the year. I'll allow maybe a month of winter temperatures and a few days of snow around Christmas time, but that's it.




Winter is gray, while spring is a riot of color just begging to be photographed. Spring is car shows on city streets, office workers eating lunch in the park, and no overcoats, gloves, scarves, or clunky boots. I'm getting tired of lugging around my Tamrac backpack and not cracking it open because it's too cold or windy or rainy or gray.



I'm getting very, very, very antsy. Who do I have to talk to to get this spring thing firmly in place? I've got pictures to take. (Full Disclosure:None of the accompanying photos were taken in the winter.)