Today is March twentieth. You should know what that is. The first day of spring. You’d expect flowers blooming, tree buds expanding, and much more.
Maybe in parts of the south. However, here in New York, the first day of spring is cold, can snow, and has no blooming of anything whatsoever. It’s practically still winter.
I’ve always wondered why the dates of spring couldn’t be regional. Why does it have to rely on an equinox related to the Earth and where it is around the sun?
Because where I live, “spring” isn’t until at least close to mid-April. That’s right. Nothing blooms or fades from winter until about a month after the first day of spring.
On the bright side, winter weather delays my allergies. When pollen flies and plants bloom, I sneeze a lot. Sometimes I even catch a cold.
I stare outside my window, and watch flurries fall from the sky. Darn. I didn’t expect that today.
But someone knocks on my door.
“Genevieve, it’s time for school,” my mom says.
I leave my room and go downstairs. I realize that global warming has made some springs come sooner. It wasn’t until three years ago that things bloomed in March. And that’s unusual.
“I’m surprised it’s snowing,” my mom says.
“It’s March, Mom,” I say. “It’s always cold at this time of year.”
“Um… no, sometimes it’s warmer than usual.”
“You really believe so?”