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Wherein you will find posts with humor, photos, reviews, occasional rants and journalistic entries of interest to me alone but that I hope will touch you, the reader, in some way. I remain sincerely yours,
A Work in Progress

Thursday, March 11, 2010

Mud Season

We have had a beautiful week weather-wise. It was mild enough to shed the coats and sweaters. Outside, I raised my face towards it, like a flower following, to thrive.  It felt warm, almost tangibly spring.  Yesterday I went out and did a huge clean-up in the yard and it is ready to be out in and to enjoy.  The snow is gone, the crocuses are up, the birds are merrily singing their spring songs....Hang on a sec, what?

Little reality check folks, this is Cape Cod where the weather fairies are capricious and malicious. The forecast for tomorrow looks dismal and we have a good old fashioned weekend of wind and rain heading this way.  Ah well, we knew, deep down, that is wouldn't last.  In March it never does. 

The Cape only really has three seasons.  Summer (short and glorious), Winter (long and gray with sporadic joyous amounts of snowfall) and Mud.  We don't get a real spring here. 

We get teaser days when the sun announces itself with authority and we can't wait to get out there and be in it and soak up the warmth.  We get spring flowers galore, daffodils and tulips, crocuses and hyacinth.  The pussy willows and the catkins come out, the forsythia is everywhere. The birds come back and hit the feeders hard, malnourished from their long journeys. 

And then we get rain.  And mud.  And then the mud freezes.  And then we get more rain.  Which leads to more mud.  And the birds come, soaking wet,  to the feeders, probably wishing they had delayed their return a few weeks.    The flowers, heavy under their droplet burdens, droop and hang in the mud at their feet.  The dog looks at us accusingly before going out and the carpets are hopeless of ever being clean again as more and more mud is tracked in.  The euphoria of those glorious teaser days is gone and it is more depressing than winter.


The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You’re one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you’re two months back in the middle of March.

1 comments:

TerriG March 11, 2010 at 4:10 PM  

Spoken so well, but I wish you were lying. The truth hurts, even when described so lovely and accurately.

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