February 2nd already. Call it what you will: Candlemas, the last day of Christmas, Groundhog Day.
I see that Punxsutawney Phil, America’s official groundhog, clearly saw his shadow up at Gobbler’s Knob this morning. Six more icy weeks of winter in the U.S., it would seem. (And yes, I do sometimes miss these quirky, uniquely American things like furry ol’ Phil’s prognostications.)
There’s no groundhog here in Venice, but I’m sure our pantegane (big, big rats) couldn’t possibly have seen their long-tailed shadows in the grey gloom this morning, and that must mean spring is on the way. I have mixed feelings about that. Even as I shiver in my Chinese silk longjohns, spring isn’t something I’m looking forward to. But it is inevitable.
Meanwhile, I wistfully look at these blue fairy lights, the last bit of Christmas still shining in town, and I wonder, as I so frequently do… How does the time go by so fast here?
