The wind is howling outside my door. Well, actually, it's getting under the aluminum casings of my windows and doors and is performing that annoying whine/whistle that only wind and aluminum can produce. Like Mother Nature joining my house in a kazoo chorus. Appropriately irreverent and ridiculous. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the cold is penetrating. Spring? Hah!
I'm beginning to think that spring has passed us by. I'm standing at my door, frantically signaling and trying to flag her down as she swings past. My poor pansies, lured into bloom by the one warm afternoon this week, are being battered and blown by a wind more appropriate to January. The gate is rattling in protest, and the buds on my shrubs are as close-mouthed and grimly-tight-visaged as the Wicked Witch of the West. Just when Glinda should be sailing in with flowers and fairies, we're getting nothing but flying monkeys and wintry glares and brown and blasted gardens. Even Oz was green, but not us. We are, it seems, perpetually Kansas, in stark black and white.
Come, now. Have we not suffered enough this year? Coldest winter, deepest snows, record lows and more. Time to pull out our ruby slippers and click our heels and chant three times: 'There's no time like spring."
Maybe that will get us there. I'm willing to try anything right now.
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