Slush season or new ice age?
March is a blustery month full of chilly gusto and empty bravado; all huffing and puffing and generally making a mess of things. It is a shifting thing born between the sharp winds of winter and the bursting sun of spring. Cumulous clouds sometimes peak out upon the horizon now where all winter was seen only banks of dull, shapeless grey or sinewy wisps of clouded atmosphere.
Suddenly roadways and sidewalks make appearances again, and though they're surrounded by high heaps of snow on all sides and at all times, can sometimes still channel enough sunlight to melt the frosty world for a few inches around them.
Some years it even gets warm enough that we can call it slush season. Water running in the streets and flooding the storm sewers creates estuaries and muddy deposits in low places; the landscape is changing right before our eyes.
This year it’s not so much so, not yet anyway. We’re still locked up in ice and snow pretty well in these parts. March came in like a yeti, I think, and is leaving…like…a yeti. It’s cold outside! The wind howls night and day like a hungry wolf sitting outside on the doorstep. Random snow flurries fling fistfuls of fluffy stuff at our windows like a troop of psyched baboons. Forget roaring like a lion, March this year is a stampede of half-frozen wooly mammoths, brought crusading out of the depths of ancient glacier locks lost and forgotten under leagues worth of earthen graves...