Groundhog Day is once again upon us, and if there were ever a moment when we could not possibly come any closer to spring — psychologically, spiritually, or meteorologically — it’s right now, immediately following what some people are calling the eighth-largest snowstorm ever, which sounds both extremely scientific and very threatening.
This past weekend’s storm didn’t just snow. It performed. It arrived with confidence, stayed longer than expected, and left behind the kind of mess that makes you reconsider every life choice that led you to owning a shovel instead of a beachfront condo.
Snowbanks rose too high for me to see over them from the window of my sedan, making every turn feel more like an educated guess. Sidewalks became obstacle courses. Cars vanished entirely, as if the earth had simply decided to reclaim them.
And just when we finished digging out — arms sore, backs questionable, optimism already on thin ice — we were warned about Sunday’s big encore: a bomb cyclone.
A phrase that sounds less like weather and more like something Batman should be dealing with. The forecasts were ominous. The graphics were colorful. Meteorologists spoke gravely, as if narrating the opening minutes of a disaster movie.
Then… nothing.
No bomb. No cyclone. Not even a respectable flurry. Just cold air and the awkward silence of a storm that said it was on its way and then ghosted us.
Which brings us back to Groundhog Day because if there’s one thing that sums up winter at this exact moment, it’s the idea of waking up to the same thing over and over again: snow, warnings of snow, discussions about snow, disappointment or devastation related to snow, and the faint, delusional belief that spring is right around the corner. Any day now. Definitely.
We are, at least, calendar-wise, inching toward spring. The sun technically sets a few minutes later. Somewhere, a groundhog is preparing to make a prediction based entirely on vibes and shadows. And yet, we are buried under the physical and emotional aftermath of a storm so large it earned a ranking, while also bracing for storms that may or may not exist.
It’s funny in the way only winter can be funny: through clenched teeth. We are closer to spring than we were last week, yes, but it has never felt farther away. Groundhog Day isn’t just upon us; it’s been the whole season. Wake up. Check the forecast. Put on boots. Shovel. Repeat.
If the groundhog sees his shadow, honestly, that feels redundant. We’ve already seen it. Everywhere. On the sidewalks. In the driveway. In our souls.
