At this time of year, I should be writing about the wonders of spring – how the sunshine warms my skin as I laze about the garden on a beautiful Saturday, how the sprouts in the garden are growing by leaps and bounds.

I should be mowing the lawn by now, as gentle spring rains coax new growth from the dormant Palmetto St. Augustine. I should be wearing short-sleeved T-shirts and flip flops.

None of those things has happened yet – because it’s not really spring yet.

The calendar tells us spring was to start March 20. But here I sit in my heavy sweater, in long jeans, with thick socks and ankle boots. And my toes are still cold.

Instead of putting on my lightweight pajamas when I get home from work, I opt for the fuzzy winter ones, with a double layer of socks and booties. Sometimes, I have to wrap up in a blanket while watching Netflix.

Regardless of what the calendar says, I have decided it’s not really spring until I can sleep without socks for three nights in a row. (During a warm spell in March, I managed two nights. Then it got cold again.)

Never mind that my husband saw a skink two weeks ago – I’m still waiting for the next frost. Didn’t we have a hailstorm just a few days ago? And it snowed (again) recently up north and surprised even those who are used to it, so I’m not ruling out anything.

I think Punxsutawney Phil might need to add a third option to his annual Feb. 2 prediction: 10 more weeks of hot-cold-warm-wet-freezing-cool.

Our heat pump and thermostat are going nuts trying to figure out if they’re supposed to blow cool air or warm. How can it know? How can I set it properly if I don’t know what the next 12 hours might bring?

The weather has been so crazy the past year or so that we can’t know. Hurricanes, floods, hail, snow – all in our generally mild Lowcountry. My husband calls it “global weirding” – not to be confused with global warming, which has been called by some a “hoax.”

I still have faith, though, that nature will come around eventually, maybe sooner than later. The local cardinals and chickadees, and even a painted bunting, have been chowing down on the seed in our feeders. They haven’t splashed in the birdbath much, but then again, it was frozen for so long.

Finally, the Kwanzan cherry tree in the front yard has bloomed with its lovely pink flowers.

Just last week, I happened to see a young barred owl perched on a fountain statue’s head in the backyard.

The grass is growing if not thriving. There are no azaleas on the bushes I pruned last fall, but that’s OK. They will be amazing next year.

And then there was a magnificent rainbow on my way home last week. That’s always a good sign of better things to come.

I hope that tomorrow is a warmer day – maybe spring will have arrived by the time this is published.

Maybe I will soon be able to skip the bed socks more than three nights in a row. Only then can I go for the summer pedicure and flip flops.