You could be forgiven for thinking spring is here, but only if you were using shop windows as your guide. Gone are the jumpers, coats and boots, replaced by tee shirts and drifty skirts and flowing blouses. Meanwhile, outside a stiff, cold wind is blowing.
Of course there are the early signs of spring outdoors too - daffodils sneaking out of the dirt, buds swelling the tips of branches, smudges of light on the horizon when the alarm drags me from my dreams. Soon, soon it will start to warm up.
But not yet. Right now snow is comfortably settled on the mountain, the morning grass crunches frostily with each step and only the five layers of clothes I slavishly don keep the wind from cutting me in half.
And what do I crave in all this chilled coldness? Icecreams! No idea where that is coming from, but I am working my way through the packet I bought on Tuesday with alacrity. Strange but true.
I'm wondering if this ice cream crave is a subconscious attempt to conjure summer out of a box? As if each warm lick takes back a small portion of the territory currently trapped in winter's icy grip. Or maybe I'm having delusions of summer, imagining the air is already warm and ice cream a perfectly normal indulgence. Or maybe I'm suffering from SADS, feeling grumpy (yes) and miserable (a little) and bored with the same, dowdy winter clothes each day (totally) and ice cream is the comfort food of choice to drown my sorrows.
Really, I have no idea why I am craving ice cream in the dead of winter, but one thing I do know - I am over it and no amount of crisp, beautiful, clear air or wintery sun on patient, delicate, naked trees will change my mind. It is time for spring. Really and truly time for spring.