Around here, Old Man Winter is playing dress up, dancing around our environs arrayed in springlike temperatures, looking like, feeling like, even smelling like spring; but I know better. The old man is just playing with us. Winter wants me to believe he's really young Jack-in-the-green, and all the while he's welcoming warmer winds to wake up hedgerows and woodlots still slumbering under a winter spell. I've even seen fresh buds forming on hopeful shrubs, wanting to get on with a new season. But I know there's nothing to get on with just yet. We still have a future of more plummeting temperatures and killing frosts to endure. This teasing rain is cruel, more cruel than any February blizzard can be. Soon these premature buds on my roses, lilacs and clematis will be cold shocked with the harsh reality that spring, the real spring of a youthful Equinox in March, is still many weeks away. These January rains are washing clean the city's winter grime, and reminds me of the April showers I'm really longing for. The Old Man arrived some time ago, and is playing hide and seek with us mere mortals, a little snow here, a little rain there. I wish he'd just act his age and throw all his might into January and be done with all his horse play foolishness. The depths of winter last year with 3' of snow and -30'sC were hard to live with most mornings, but at least they became predictable by late February. Or maybe I'm just not feeling playful when the days are shorter and the nights grow colder, and a mischievous Old Man plays "make believe it's springtime" on a grey January day.