Okay, Spring! Winter and I have been living together for months now; don’t think you can come along and just break us up. I’ll always love Winter: we’re cuddling and cozy, and she’s my soulmate. You think you’re something special, but you’re still only the third best season. You might be better than Summer, but that ain’t sayin’ much.
It’s common knowledge that, ever since our Cro-Magnon ancestors decided to take up home decorating in the south of France, Spring has been working overtime to convince us that she is the best season on the calendar. Crap! I like Spring as well as the next guy, but here are a couple of little items that prove she’s wrong.
First of all, Spring is sneaky. She tempts us with sunshine and warm weather, saying things like, “Come out and play!” and “You don’t need a jacket.” Then, the minute we get 10 metres out the door, she hits us with rain, wind, hail — that’s big enough to hurt — and that frozen sleety stuff that can actually tear your clothes. How many times have you gone to work on a gorgeous spring morning and come home that night, soaked through to your underwear with your shoes full of mud? In my country, I’ve seen beautiful April days turn into debilitating snowstorms in less than hour and more than a few crops of innocent little vegetables murdered overnight by a killer frost in May. Spring is the original Femme Fatale.
Second, Spring means work. Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! Spring’s always talking about what a wonderful time she has with love and sex and “The Birds And The Bees.” But good luck with that. Once things start blooming, the only al fresco activity anybody with a back garden ever gets is “Work Your Ass Off!” And we better do it, too, or Spring will turn our homes into overgrown holiday camps for badgers, wolves and crack addicts. So, we plant, we water, we weed, we water some more — oh, yeah, and cut the grass. Then there’s more weeding. Cut the grass, again. And WTF, it’s time to repaint the fence or rebuild the garden wall. By the time there is a moonlight evening worth sitting under, most of us are too exhausted to do anything but snore. Spring could give lessons to Lady Macbeth.
And finally …. Wait a minute! What’s that smell? OMG, that’s incredible! I didn’t know air could smell that good. And listen to the birds! It’s like a symphony. And there’s daffodils! Crocuses! I don’t even know what those pretty little pink things are. Fantastic! Feel that sun! My God, it’s great to be alive!
“Well, hi there Spring. How ya doin? No, Winter and I’ve decided to give each other some space. Uh — ya think maybe you and I could hang out for a while….?”