It must be spring.

They’ll be relegated to the back of the closet until the temperatures drop below surface-of-the-sun hot.

That is all.

Fellow Metroblogger Will did it justice:

Standing on the porch, she looks back at the footprints left behind in the green silt. Cat’s paws, men’s boots, women’s dress shoes. It’s all decorated with the little wormy things that have been coming off the trees like rats off a sinking ship.

“Ugh,” she says.

“What?”

“It’s so gross. It’s like the trees are basically having sex all over us.”

“No it’s not,” I say. “Please don’t say that.”

Blech.

This picture snapped over the weekend near the rarely traveled path that is Bear Creek Trail, the view from which nearly rendered me speechless.

In the mist of the clouds and the silence of the mountainside we had to ourselves I still managed to mutter a “Dear lord baby Jesus… you’re just sitting there watching your little Einsteins movie and learning your colors and shapes…” along with a “thank you for this freakishly warm weather that lets me hike in the dead of winter with nary a thought for a coat”

What. You didn’t think I’d actually be speechless?

More here, if that wasn’t enough.