On my exercise walk up and down Beacon Hill today, I spotted crocuses, snowdrops, magnolia buds, flip flops, and shorts. You know what that means.
It means: it's time to take down the Christmas decorations. Including that lame little tree in a living room on Commonwealth Avenue.
It doesn't mean that it's spring. That doesn't arrive until May, no matter how much we indulge ourselves in wishful thinking and unseasonally flimsy clothing.
You may switch your latté from hot to iced, if you insist, but go no further.
I predict that it's going to snow like the dickens when we least expect it.