Monday, March 16, 2015

"Shoveling her way to Spring,"

Lots and  lots and awholellota talk about emails going around, so I think I will join in.

March is a month where the weather is always a surprise, and because of that the weather should surprise no one.  Several days ago I got an email from a long time friend, and it closed with "shoveling her way to spring", and the next day I again had to shovel out my vehicle, and I kept repeating to myself "one shovelful closer to Spring" followed by a few choice expletives, well, I am human after all.  I thought back to the older spinster who lived down the street from me  when I was a kid, she went out late in the evening to shovel her steps and walkway, and as she did so she singsonged a string of expletives together, it became a work song of sorts and some nights it lulled us kids to sleep, and I sometime, OK often, I carry on the tradition.   Of course trying to keep my mind fixed on how this could be the last big snow of the season.  The weather warmed a little, and melting snow dripped from the eves, the temperature soared, no really it soared, into the 30s, it felt like a heatwave, no coats necessary when hauling out the scraps to the compost pile, shoes optional, sunglasses required, winter might not be over but it was broken.  But today I wakened to a dusting of snow.

A few days ago the same friend sent me  this quote, which I am eager to share with my good readers.

  "Springtime is the land awakening. The March winds are the morning yawn."

 

 
Lewis McDonald Grizzard, Jr. (October 20, 1946 - March 20, 1994) was an American writer and humorist, known for his Southern demeanor and commentary on the American South. Although he spent his early career as a newspaper sports writer and editor, becoming the sports editor of the Atlanta Journal at age 23, he is much better known for his humorous newspaper columns in the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. He was also a popular stand-up comedian & lecturer
 
 



March winds are the  morning yawn, the earth is awakening and deciding whether or not it wants to roll over and draw a blanket of snow around itself for a few more days, or get up andwander about and perhaps watch the cold sunrise before it takes another nap.  Eventually it will rouse from its slumbers, to the sound of singing birds and go forth, set bud and flower.  Winter in growing weary. 

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