February. Ah, February. Where the wind knocks the eyes right out of your head. The sky, if not snowing, is threatening snow. And then sleet. Followed by freezing rain. On top of that snow from January that is still under the foot of February’s gift from the sky. Then the temps plummet. I mean it was averaging 18 degrees for the month, but now all that has sat for two days on the snow is forever a part of it. Then you fall on ice, after 100 close calls. And that sniffle turns into a faucet. Kleenex shred on contact with your nose. Then it warms up to 34. And plummets to 23 and below the next 5 days, further locking in the grip of February into March. Now I await the inevitable rain. That will probably start as just rain, but February, magical, wonderful February, will appear once again in disguise as March and freeze that on contact. The better for that water to seek it’s own level. Which could be your basement. Ah March. Where flights of birds and the sound of geese in the night sky almost make you forget about the possibility of a St Patricks Day snowstorm. February. Ah. February.