Ruffled Feathers

As I got out of the car to head into church recently, I pulled my hat down on my head, yanked my scarf up around my neck and lowered my head to address the brisk wind.  As I did so, however, I caught sight of a fat, fluffed-up robin under a bare deciduous tree.  I could only imagine what he or she was thinking:  Where is spring? Although it probably wasn't the case, the robin looked as if it was shivering, which made me shiver all the more.  Spring is here, but it still doesn't consistently act like it (according to my definition of spring anyway). The wind can still be raw, the temperature in the teens and the snow falling as if it were December, but spring it is anyway.  For just as soon as I give in that it's cold, blowing and snowing, the terrible weather stops, the sun comes out, the winds fade away and the snow melts to give subtle hints of green grass.  Like the robin I saw that recent Sunday, my feathers get a little ruffled that winter won't just give in and go away with some level of grace to allow spring to fully enter.