The weather is almost how I remember March in England when I was a child. Cold in the morning, but by lunchtime, a glorious soft breeze and warm sunshine envelops you as you step outside. I have a crocus or two out in the back garden. The rabbits, which seem to plague this town, have not got to them yet. Maybe this year they won't! The birds sing in choruses it seems. It is, after a long winter, heaven. (But of course, they are forecasting snow this weekend....oh well. The break was glorious while it lasted.)

Springtime is one of the hardest things for me to deal with here. England's Springs are stuff of legend. I fell in love with my husband in Spring. On a walk around the lake at the university we both attended, he picked me a single daffodil. I kept it, dried and kind of shriveled for years.
The first birthday I spent here in 1997, it snowed on my birthday. Which, I thought was amazing (the southeast of England was deprived on any snowy weather when i was little, and I dreamt of snow every winter...only to have to be content with rain.) However, I realized as the years went on, that snow on March 15th is depressing. What was I thinking that first year?! I clearly had no idea what I had got myself into! Never mind all the other cultural differences and subtle conversational nuances, never mind the subequent years of not being able to order Water in a fast food restaurant without the staff looking at me like I was from Mars (not from the country that first populated this country!) or on occasion telling me that we don't have that. That being Water. No, I was just naive enough top think that the weather god's had planned a cold, snowy March for me that year, just because they wanted to fulfill my childhood wish.
So, 13 years later I got the mid-march English type weather that I long for every year. (Does this mean I have to wait another 13 to see it again?)