I have been singing songs in my head all day

They all go something like this:

I aaaaam sitting on my porch, I am sitting on my porch, it is sixty-one degrees out, I am sitting on my porch!
I aaaaam not taking my coat, I am not taking my coat, it is sixty-one degrees out, I am not taking my coat.

I suspect that this is only a fake-spring -- it was eight degrees at night only four days ago -- but oh how glorious it is! It is easier to read, and to run errands, when I can do the first on the porch, and the second without layering up. I declare it the end of winter. Now, bring on the spinach and the rhubarb and the asparagus!