I warned them. When the daffodils started sprouting in November, I said, “Now, that’s a bad idea.”

When the irises popped up in December, I said, “Um, guys? It’s the beginning of winter. Turn around.”

And Thursday night, as I took this picture, I said, “In a couple of hours, I’ll be saying I told you so.” At least in this case, the victim is a snow crocus.

So this was yesterday morning. Yes, I got out of bed at 7am, even though Scout Son didn’t have school at all, and Snarky Daughter was going on a two hour delay. Because Princess Cassie needed to go out.

And the lighting was great, so out I wandered in my robe (the benefits of living in the country) and a pair of crocs. Onto the ice.

It looked like snow. In fact, it fell AS snow. Big, beautiful, I want to have a snowball fight flakes. Unfortunately, they fell onto already wet, cold surfaces, where it turned into not nearly as much fun ice.

Undaunted, and ignoring the cold breeze blowing up my robe, I skated across the deck to take a photo for all of you of the snow crocus. Who did not listen to me, and spent the next 12 hours covered in ice.

There’s still some in the backyard, but most of the icky has melted. Unfortunately, now I actually want a decent snow so we can play. This won’t last long though, since I hate winter. Like my bulbs, I’m counting the minutes till spring. Hopefully the bulbs know something the calendar doesn’t!