Up here in New England, it totally does not seem like Spring. What a joke. We're dying of cabin fever, choking on accumulated dog hair, and cursing life when we have to get out of bed to use the bathroom because it's too freaking cold. Last week we got dumped on by a massive storm that covered up every last bit of anything green that was daring to show its face. The house is surrounded by a moat of snow that fell off the roof after it melted. It's amazing it didn't kill us.
It's always kind of bizarre when Ostara comes around and mother nature seems like she hasn't gotten the point yet. This, grasshopper, is the onset of Spring--when one is at one's wits end and must genuinely hunt for proof that the wheel of the year isn't just a joke. And this is actually an important question to deal with: what do you do, and what does it mean, when what you see outside your window doesn't comply to what your books and calendar tell you is true?
In reality, the clues are there. Even though there's a lot of snow, we can notice that the sun is noticeably higher and the the days are longer. The snow melts faster than it would have a few weeks ago. The birds are back, returning with their song, and the chickens have started laying. The hyacinths and daffodils have shown up in the farmers' markets, along with lots of pastel crap and chocolate eggs. We're looking at the calendar and realizing it really is time to book the landscapers.
Maybe it is really Spring!