You can tell. The driveway of death is diminishing.
See? I have only a little bit of ice to traverse to get to the car now. There is actually a bare spot of driveway as opposed to complete ice. And the ice is visible as opposed to covered with snow. There are no icicles of Damocles suspended overhead, waiting to drop on me.
The other sign of spring is the arrival of Burpee porn. How seductive the pages of plump, juicy tomatoes and tall, thrusting chard. I want to grab those tight, full melons and squeeze. I want to stroke that zucchini. Those succulent peppers. Those crispy okra. Oh yes. SH and I are going to garden.