Spring?

We skipped along in 62 degrees worth of niceness, savoring what will be the last pleasant climate change for a while. Huge halo around the sun, which bodes ill for the morrow; the leaves will hang on until it's pouring and gusting, and then be miserable to move around. Wonder what sort of grazing beasts would hoover them up?
Reviews of the latest Orhan Pamuk novel abound, which sounds tempting but perhaps somewhat recursive. I'll have to go test read it.