The season changed abruptly, and too soon. There was a week of snowstorms, and great piles of snow were everywhere. But it was clearly springtime snow: the way the ground was a bit warm underneath, and melted the lowest layer, which refroze to a crust of ice that the snow could sit on, creating these little continental shelves on the edges of the snowbanks that lined the sidewalks. And then it got warm: a week of above-freezing temperatures, windy, chill, but spring-flavored. And now this: it would be cold if it were August, but it's late March, and it feels humid and hot and the snow is completely gone after the rain last night. There are buds on the trees and the squirrels scramble on the branches with a sort of distracted optimism, like brand-new meth-addicts, no patina yet on the edges of consciousness.