Tis a melancholy time indeed for all of us poor slobs North of the Mason-Dixon. When Winter's ugly head sprouts the warm face of Spring, we are all deluded into a fantasy world of seed displays at Walmart.
The urge is so strong to get out and work the dirt of our ancestors, to till the warm fertile soils into glorious productions of foods and floras...that we lose ourselves. Fools rushing 'round in the outdoors, sporting spring jackets and flip flops, sucking in the sweet nectar of warm moist air and plentiful sunshine...how soon we forget, as our folly has led us to nights of NyQuil and mounds of spent Kleenex, all in the name of the Rites of Spring... foolishly led astray into the depths of a 'Spring cold'...argh...
Not me, ol' fool hardy friends...I fully intend to wear the wools of warmth till the fat lady sings...'It Ain't Over Till It's Over'...funny though, by Summer's end, I am longing for the seasonal shift into the warm cuddly flannels and fleece. Shunning the flip flops and the Capri's for more sturdy jeans, some with flannel lining and the fleece lined jackets of the lumberjacks...ahhh...Winter again is upon us.
Alright...enough already...where is that damn fat lady...now I long for the flip flops and the shorts and the tees...the sunburn and the long days, floral scents adrift in the warm summer airs. Cicadas and mosquitoes, June bugs and Mayflies...
Sorry, I'm obviously delusional, but it's the longing for the warm toilet seat that moves me to such displays of emotion...unless you've lived in the frozen tundras of the Nor'lunds or unless you've sat bare-bottomed on a tombstone, you have no idea the pain and the longing for Spring...and the warm sweet obsession...
