I guess a blog is like a letter. When one seems due but there's no news, you can always talk about the weather.

The tendency might hark back to an agrarian time when the weather could mean the difference between a good harvest and starvation. Or maybe it is just habit, or sheer laziness.

Temperatures here haven't climbed out of the thirties this past week -- cold for end of March. But then March in the northeast is an erratic month with warm breezes one day and snow showers the next. At least it hasn't been dark and stormy. Today we are supposed to reach forty, tomorrow fifty, and maybe even sixty by the end of the week.

Yesterday morning the yard was white with snow that evaporated in the sunlight before noon. I will have to finally pick up the debris of small pine boughs strewn across the lumpy, pale green sod, the work of winter's cold fronts blowing through. Snow isn't likely to cover the mess again until next November.

When I trundle my groceries up to the checkout this week, the clerk will probably remark, "Looks like spring is finally here." Or maybe I will.