Well, it’s happened. Fourteen degrees sounds warm. Yes, 14. Not 40. At this point, 40 degrees sounds like tank-top weather.
After days with highs with a minus sign in front of them, two digits next to one another sounds mighty toasty. Of course, my feelings on that point might change when the wind is scraping off the top layer of my skin, but still.
Stupid polar vortex.
Perhaps the cruelest part is the bright sunshine, sunshine where the sun is little more than a paper disk in the sky, mocking us. It’s hard to remember in days like this what it is like to run out out the door without layers, without a coat, without my extra-long scarf that might be a little too long.
But spring will come. Eventually.