Has spring sprung?

Decían que iba a nevar este fin de semana, pero las nubes han cambiado de idea. En la cabeza, un fragmento:

Spring comes into Quebec from the west. It is the warm Japan Current that brings the change of season to the east coast of Canada, and then the west wind picks it up. It comes across the prairies in the breath of the chinook, waking up the grain and caves of bears. It flows over Ontario like a dream of legislation, and it sneaks into Quebec, into our villages, between our birch trees. In Montreal the cafés, like a bed of tulip bulbs, sprout from their cellars in a display of awnings and chairs. In Montreal spring is like an autopsy. Everyone wants to see the inside of the frozen mammoth. Girls rip off their sleeves and the flesh is sweet and white, like wood under green bark. From the streets a sexual manifesto rises like an inflating tire, 'The winter has not killed us again!' Spring comes into Montreal like an American movie of Riviera romance, and everyone has to sleep with a foreigner, and suddenly the house lights flare and it's summer, but we don't mind because spring is really a little flashy for our taste, a little effeminate, like the furs of Hollywood lavatories. Spring is an exotic import, like rubber love equipment from Hong Kong; we only want it for a special afternoon, and vote tariffs tomorrow if necessary. Spring comes to Montreal so briefly you can name the day and plan nothing for it.

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers - Via Karl.