Despite having had 19 or so years to accept the oddities, every year the Virginia seasons continue to surprise me: 40 degrees in mid-May with the ground still refusing to produce flowers, a light dusting of snow frosting the countryside in November even though it's not expected until January, and 60 degrees in December, the trees still clad in the red, yellow and brown associated with fall. It's a wonder we Virginians even remember how the four seasons are 'supposed' to act.
February in Virginia combines the dead of winter and the balminess of a full-blown spring. The weather goes through a pattern: thick, bright-white clouds cover what seems like the entire sky, and shake snow in great quantities down onto the land, the ground so frozen rock-hard it seems to scowl at you, denying that it EVER allowed a spade to part it. Then the temperature rises just enough to melt the snow, exposing the now-soft earth strewn with bits of dead grass, rapidly becoming a squelching, sucking mud. Finally, the ever-present clouds part as the sun blooms, and the air is so soft and balmy that even the birds venture a few confused chirps.You almost expect a patchwork quilt of tulips, crocuses and hyacinths to spontanously generate.
I keep expecting to be able to have reasonable expectations of what each season will bring, but the fact is, I love the unpredictability of the Virginia seasons.