Here's something I don't experience every day:
I'm walking down a side street in my neighborhood on a January evening, wearing a spring-weight jacket (open) and sweater, my hair loose and flowy and enjoying it's night out on the town because it's not hidden under a hot wool hat.
A gentle breeze brushes my neck, my cheek, carrying with it the pungent and seemingly ill-placed scent of pine from the scattered carcasses of discarded Christmas trees littering my path.
This weather makes me feel skeptically joyous. I'm smiling but one eyebrow is cocked in disbelief and confusion.
What's up, Armageddon?
Nah, I'm just kidding. But I can't help feel a little bit wrong about the guy crossing Madison Avenue in a pair of shorts on January 8th, especially when I was doing so much heavy bitching about how bone-chillingly cold it was last week.
I've heard of a January thaw, but not one that's supposed to thaw Greenland.
Anyone else a little wary?
The Blizzard of '17
3 days ago