I’ve whined before here about my dislike of cold weather and about my disappointment that March promises warmth and doesn’t deliver. The cold continues. As I write, the temperature is only one degree above freezing.

But as I look out at the vegetation surrounding the pond in back of my house, I’m struck by the presence of blooms—daffodils in full flower, and yellow, pink, and red blossoms on flowering trees and bushes. The first day of spring is less than a week away. Warm weather will eventually follow, though it may take a while.

So, as Alexander Pope long ago advised us, hope springs eternal. Where there are blooms, there is the promise of warmth. Someday soon, if I’m patient, I will be comfortably warm again.

But I’m not patient. I want the warmth now. So I go on bundling up and hovering close to my gas stoves.

I have just proven that one can type even when one is cold.

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