Whiplash

Recovering from Mother Nature's surprising twists and turns, which happen most springs, and which I faithfully seem to forget is such a challenge.  Out goes the five foot potted Kaffir lime to adjust to sun and wind whipping breezes.  Out goes the other citrus, the Calamondin lime.   It is smaller and has been fighting a pest invasion for a year.  I was hoping the cooler nights would assist, but I had to bring it back in before I could spray it with an oil along with its big brother as a wind chilling frost was due to arrive.  I forgot the little and rather old geranium, but it survived the brief frost on the deck.  In spite of watching the weather I was still surprised to see a tiny layer of slushy white stuff on the deck the next morning.

I am not the only disgruntled one, though.  The cardinal flew to the bird bath and then back up to the deck table giving me the stink eye through the patio door.  I looked and saw the dish had been frozen over.  As if to emphasize he flew down to its edge and pecked at the hard shiny surface several times and then glared at me. I had taken in the water heater, of course.

That was two days ago.  Now when I see the sun and green grass I hop outside only to be reminded that it is still hanging at the 50 degree mark on the warmest of afternoons.  Back inside I go to get a scarf and sweater.

March may come in like a lion and go out like a lamb, but April is a schizophrenic diva with her own personal voodoo doll and an endless supply of pins.