“Someone put their boots away too soon,” his aunt said. “Every year, these smart alecks think one week of warm weather means winter’s over, and they box up all their heavy clothes, cursing the rest of us to another snowstorm.”
Owl nodded, hoping that was enough.
She sat at the table, dipped her teaspoon in the sugar bowl, leveled it with the edge of her pinkie finger and stirred it in her coffee. The spoon tapped the ceramic three times.
“Two feet of snow midway through April,” she said. “These wisenheimers’ll never learn. Maybe I should stop thinking they might.”