T.S. Eliot called April the cruelest month but he never lived in Steelhead Alley. I hate February because it rarely gives us a day like today -- blue skies, 40 degrees -- and when it does the sun neither rises early enough nor sets late enough for those of us with office jobs to get out on the water.
When I looked at my schedule this morning it said "maybe." As in, maybe it would be worth putting the gear in the back of the fish car and maybe I'd be able to exit the office early enough to get onto the Rocky River before dusk. But the 2 p.m. meeting got pushed back to 3. And then the phone rang. And then it was just too late.
Perhaps we'll get lucky and the rain, thaw and snow won't completely mess things up this weekend. But I'm prepared to hate February, again.