Well, it feels like it anyway.

Unbelievably, just a week ago, we collectively worried about covering our flowers and hoping that a hard freeze would not wipe out the blossoms on the magnolia bushes and trees. The apple and cherry farmers crossed their fingers as they stewed over the cold snap and what it might do to their crops, especially after two million pounds of asparagus were lost here in Michigan.

But now, here I sit, tap-tapping away on the keyboard, and shivering from the chilly air that is gushing non-stop from the register near my feet.

If only we could have a happy medium in this confounded weather.

I liken our weather to the bowls of porridge in the fairytale “Goldilocks and the Three Bears” – there are temperatures for everyone’s taste … cold, hot, or in between, when you live here in Michigan, and usually they are found all in the same week.

I tried to figure out what to wear before I set out on my walk this morning, knowing that even though I’d listened to the weather portion of the news, I’d either be too cold, too hot, but never just right.

On top of it, there was already a good breeze blowing and it’s always windier at the Park.

So, a sweat suit it was and no coat – first time with no coat and I had to tie a Meijer bag onto the fanny pack so I didn’t have to carry the Ziploc bag of peanuts in my hand.

Off I went, and glanced over at Marge’s big thermometer on the deck – yup, it was already at 72 degrees and it wasn’t even sunny. I wended my way through the neighborhoods, and people were leaving the house in shirtsleeves … of course, I obviously had overdressed once again, and, it was the same at the Park. Most everyone I passed on the perimeter path was in short sleeves and carrying their coat.

The industrial mowers were hard at work when I was last at the Park, this past Monday. They have tamed that jungle-look and chomped down most of the long grass and weeds, but one entire field is still full of those gangly dandelions that have already gone to seed. I never knew until today that the geese like eating them. In fact, they grab them by the beak and tear them right out of the ground, roots and all. (Wonder if they’d like to follow me home? The only time the lawn is free of dandelions is right after it is mowed.) Since no bright-yellow blossoms remain, whatever nourishment they get is from those rubbery-looking stems – to each his own I guess.

There were geese galore at the Park this morning and they were grazing and walking all over the path. They have this attitude that they own the Park, so it is you, not them, who must get out of the way. Of course, you don’t want to mess with them because you will be subjected to histrionics like wing flapping and hissing where they will stick their bright pink tongue out at you. My friend Ann Marie lives near a pond and she tells me that walking past one bully goose means you must carry a big stick and don’t get too close, or risk an attack.

The entire Park was abuzz with birds on both loops – not just the geese, who are quiet when they are feasting on spent dandelions, but, in a heartbeat those geese will create a ruckus with their honking. They honk when coming in for a landing, or, at no one in particular, but just to hear themselves honk.

It is the songbirds that make the two-loop journey so pleasant. Whenever I hear the strains of the male Red-Winged Blackbird, I picture myself walking barefoot through a meadow on a Summer’s Day, a crown of daisies resting on my head.

Perhaps the ambiance of the Park takes my imagination to a whole new level?