This is a winter that’s been too good to be true.

At least that’s what I’m hearing. Daylight Savings Time is here and the first day of spring officially arrives next week, and no one is quite believing winter is almost over because, really, we didn’t get much of anything anyway. Sure, we had a few days of the deep freeze when the thermometer plunged to minus-8, and there was enough snow to justify wheeling out the snow blower a couple of times. But other than that, this winter was nothing compared to last year.

The state was prepared for the worst. Remember Gov. Gina Raimondo standing in the front of a mountain of salt at the Department of Transportation site off Jefferson Boulevard for the cameras last fall? Rhode Island wasn’t going to get caught without salt. In addition to Salt Mountain, there were a couple of new plows that looked capable of keeping a trans-Siberian highway clear and a long-nosed device that was the ultimate answer to potholes. This thing, DOT officials swore, made pothole patches that were more durable than the surrounding pavement – a permanent plug that would outlast us all.

Of course, that’s the last we saw of the Pothole Terminator. There were virtually no potholes this winter. Salt Mountain is still there, although covered with black plastic so that it won’t dissolve in the rain.

All of this brings me back to the uncanny feeling that because we’ve gotten off so easily, something is sure to happen. I’m not alone.

Maybe you noticed it this weekend, too. People were hesitant to attribute the sunny warm weather to anything more than a fluke, as if acknowledging it would jinx things.

“Enjoy it while you can,” was the advice of a spectator on the route of Sunday’s St. Patrick’s Day parade in West Warwick. She was ready in case conditions changed rapidly. She wore heavy boots, a woolen green hat appropriate for the occasion, and had a down parka tied around her waist.

“Guess I didn’t need it,” she said as my eyes went to the parka.

The Pawtuxet Rangers looked to be stifling in their woolen red coats and felt hats. That’s their uniform, so really they didn’t have much choice of what to wear on such an unexpectedly warm winter day. Canteens hung from their belts. They contained water, I was assured. It might have been Irish whiskey had snowflakes been flying, as has been the case for pervious St. Patrick’s Day parades.

Before the line of march stepped off, I talked briefly with Richard Quetta, who was standing beside the vintage fire truck he would be driving. He was dressed for the weather in a light shirt, but the canvas shielding the truck’s cab was snapped into place. He wouldn’t be taking it off, even though he would have been more comfortable without it.

It just was too soon…and, maybe, tempting fate.

How is it that when good things happen it is a product of luck? We knock on wood. We thank our “lucky stars.” When bad things happen, however, we often feel “we had it coming sooner or later” or that “we were dealt a bad hand,” as if someone else had it in for us.

Strangely, if it snowed tomorrow, I think many would complain but secretly feel better about this winter because we were “due” and we got it. I can’t pretend to think any more rationally.

I have to believe the governor would feel good if state crews had to peel back the black plastic wrap and use some of that road salt. It’s great to feel you’ve got things under control even though the weather is uncontrollable.

Now don’t jinx it by putting away the snow shovel.

See what I mean? There goes that control thing again.