March in the southern Berkshire mountains of the NE USA:
if you don't care for the weather, wait a few minutes or so.

Thus, the spectacle last week:
the forsythia bushes were a riot of yellow blossoms,
and several inches of snow fell on trees and bushes alike.
The bare trees with the coating of snow were picturesque enough,
but blooming forsythia bushes with piles of snow
heaped on top of the yellow clusters of blossoms
was a real sight to see.

So much so that, outside one office building where I am staying,
a staffperson hurried out the door onto the front step
wearing no coat, and possibly stockinged feet, with her cellphone,
in order to get a photograph of the forsythia with snow on it.
And HER co-worker upstairs looked out the window,
saw this lady standing out in the cold on the front step,
left his office, hurried down the stairs, and said,
what are you DOING, what is the MATTER with you . . .
. . . he couldn't see that she just HAD to have this photograph.
It was amusing.