Spring Weather
Spring Weather
Admiral Biscuit
There were two alarm clocks on the nightstand. One was an old-fashioned clock with two bells on top, while the other was a cell phone with an app.
For its years of service, the alarm had only actually sounded once on the old-fashioned clock. The click when the alarm mechanism activated was enough to wake Cinnamon Breeze, and she would reach out with her field to silence the alarm before it could even sound.
With a click, the mechanism released, Cinnamon’s ear perked, her horn lit, and before the striker could even move, it was interrupted.
Back home, the sun was more reliable than an alarm clock. Here on Earth, she’d discovered that humans changed the time at a whim; just when winter was over and the sky was light in the morning, they moved the clock to provide an extra hour of darkness.
She opened her eyes and contemplated disentangling herself from Harper, then decided against it, instead using her magic to pull the bedroom curtains aside. Despite the time change, the sky was sort of light when she woke.
Today, just like yesterday and the day before, was grey and gloomy. Both the newspaper and the weather app on Harper’s cell phone had said that was going to be the case, but that didn’t stop her from being hopeful.
A few early birds that weren’t deterred by gloom were already chirping. Cinnamon wanted to open the window to let the morning air in, but it was still too cold. Spring had happened, at least according to the calendar, but it didn’t feel spring-like at all. Her winter coat had started shedding on schedule, but the human weather couldn’t manage to keep a schedule.
Cinnamon nuzzled Harper’s cheek and pushed the covers off, got out of bed, and trudged into the hallway.
The coffee maker was screwed down to the counter so she could find it without error—her magical ‘feel’ wasn’t as accurate in a two-story human house with wires throughout the walls—and she waited until she heard the coffee machine burbling before turning on the shower and stepping into the bathroom.
•••
Harper was awake and semi-alert when Cinnamon returned to the bedroom, a cup of coffee in her aura. She didn’t like the idea of eating or drinking in the bedroom, but Harper liked starting the morning with coffee before all else, and it was the little things that mattered.
She groaned—Harper was not a morning person—took a sip of coffee, ran her hand through her hair, and then kissed Cinnamon on the nose.
The coffee didn’t completely cover morning breath, but it helped.
•••
By the time she was downstairs, Cinnamon was nearly finished with breakfast. Harper had her coffee in hand.
“I hope you don’t mind an experiment,” the unicorn said. “I decided I’d try huevos rancheros since we had a lot of leftover refried beans at work.”
“Beans for breakfast?”
Cinnamon shrugged. “They’ve got lots of protein, so why not?”
“Everyone in the kitchen is going to hate me.” Harper grinned. “Sign me up. You need any help?”
“You could get another pan heating, and then put the tortillas in it. If you want to be fancy, you could set the table.”
“Breakfast isn’t supposed to be fancy. My ideal breakfast is a bowl of cereal eaten on the couch while watching cartoons on TV.”
“We didn’t have TV, I had to settle for a Daring Do novel.”
“Novels are good, too. You ponies didn’t have super-sugared breakfast cereals with bright boxes, did you?”
“No, just boring tins and burlap sacks. I thought all your human breakfast cereals were stupid until I tried Cinnamon Toast Crunch.”
“Love Cinnamon Toast Crunch.” Harper dropped a tortilla in the pan. “You want a ride to work this morning, or you going to take the bus?”
“I haven’t decided yet. Are you going to be cuddly?”
“I haven’t decided yet.” Harper finished her coffee, put the mug in the sink, and rubbed her hand through Cinnamon’s mane. “But my inner Magic 8-Ball is saying cuddly.”
“You need a better soothsayer than just a icosahedron floating in blue alcohol.”
“No I don’t.” Harper scratched behind Cinnamon’s ears. “Fortune cookies and horoscopes give vague, broad predictions, while the Magic 8-Ball speaks simple truths.”
“Especially since you can keep shaking it until you get the answer you want.”
“Such is the nature of prophesy.” Harper leaned down and kissed her forelock. “I’ll never tire of you getting annoyed at things that are called ‘magic’ when they clearly aren’t.”
Cinnamon stuck her tongue out, bumped Harper’s hip, then scooped the eggs out of the frying pan.
•••
There was something to be said about the simplicity of Cinnamon’s morning routine. She didn’t need to pick out clothes for the day; she wore none. She didn’t need to pack lunch; she worked in a kitchen and could make her lunch at work. She didn’t need to remember her keys or her shoes; the latter were nailed on, while the former had been solved by tucking the keys away in a place where only a unicorn could find it.
Sadly, that wasn’t in a pocket dimension; instead, it was under the siding at home, and inside a cement block near the door at work.
There was a second, human-friendly spare house key kept under a rock for Harper’s benefit.
Cinnamon and Harper had snuggled on the couch until the bus had left, and the human had finally gotten dressed in her suitable-for-outdoors-but-still-technically-pajamas clothes. Once or twice a week, morning snuggle time ran long, and the un-springlike weather was good for snuggling, complete with a faux fire on the smart TV.
•••
They were near the end of the block when the snow started.
“What is wrong with Missouri?”
“I could give you a list,” Harper offered.
“It’s the fourth of April. Spring was two weeks ago . . . I knew you humans had bad weather management, but this is inexcusable. I want to plant a garden, but I can’t do that when the ground is either mud or frozen or both at the same time.”
“I thought gardens were an earth pony thing.”
“They’re more known for it, but I know how to grow food, too. In pots and in the ground.” She’d re-landscaped her house, and already grown a selection of herbs for cooking. “I’ve been planning from the catalogs, and I’ve got plenty of seed packs already, and some of them warned me to wait until the last frost was past which should have been on the spring equinox, but clearly isn’t . . . you don’t have multiple equinoxes, do you?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“The whole changing time thing got me wondering.”
“Yeah, that’s dumb. That’s to help farmers or something.”
“How? It doesn’t change the number of hours in the day.”
“I dunno.”
“I keep a list in my head.” Cinnamon tapped a hoof to her temple. “About the things I hate about Earth. It’s a short list, ‘cause I’m a friendly, happy pony. Right now your dumb weather is on that list.”
Harper nodded. “They say if you don’t like the weather, wait five minutes and it changes.”
“Sure, tell that to a cucumber vine that’s freezing its leaves off because it’s snowing two weeks after winter ended. Half my winter coat’s already shed, if it stays cold I’m going to have to borrow one of your hoodies.”
“Borrow away, you’re adorable in a hoodie.”
Cinnamon stuck her tongue out. “When it it actually going to be spring?”
“For sure, positive, no snow, ground doesn't freeze, plants thrive, and you don’t borrow a hoodie?”
“Yeah.”
“Memorial Day.”
“Which is?” Cinnamon had a cell phone which she used as little as possible. It had a calendar with important human dats marked on it, and she vaguely remembered coming across Memorial Day.
“End of May.” Harper reached over and ruffled her mane. “At least the snow’s not sticking.”