Look, if somebody yanked me out of my warm bed in the dead of winter, thrust me into the glare of spotlights, cameras and a mob of babbling, gawking people, I don’t think I’d bother looking for my shadow. A bathroom maybe, but not my shadow.
Groundhog Day. What a farce. Like some semi-comatose woodchuck with his eyes glued shut is gonna find his shadow. Besides, the stupid thing has just slept through the worst winter in living memory and could care less about whether there’s six more weeks of it or not. So what’s he tell us? It’s over. Early spring!
I just looked at the computer projections for next week. There’s no fat lady in sight.
What is in sight is a reinforcing burst of arctic air that will slam southward out of the Canadian prairies into virtually all of the U.S. from the Rockies eastward. So enjoy whatever little micro-reprieve might flit across the nation over the next couple of days.
Then–hairy, somnolent rodents aside–get ready for another polar onslaught. Dontcha
just love it? (Can’t someone put Phil on Craig’s List or something?)
Yes, more ice and snow, too. I’ve been practicing my golf swing in my suburban Atlanta house the last few days (hope springs eternal), but now am wondering if I shouldn’t be working on my snow shoveling motion instead. Again.
Say, do you suppose Atlanta got those two snowplows that collided with each other repaired yet? It’d be nice to know our full standing army of eight is combat ready. (Not a forecast. I’m just sayin’….)
Photo: A groundhog
And this one is awake. Note the green foliage. It’s definitely not February.