Sunday, March 11th, 2012

Everybody who’s out walking today is wearing short sleeves and most are in shorts. It’s the typical reaction to an unseasonably warm day in Wisconsin, but instead of “unseasonably warm” being in the high forties or low fifties, this afternoon we’ve got temps in the seventies! So instead of saying just “unseasonably warm,” I should be saying “freakishly unseasonably warm,” if for no other reason than I felt like a freak in my long-sleeved shirt and trousers.

I’d been down the basement all morning, working up spread sheets to figure out if we would save enough money by refinancing our mortgage to make it worth our while – turned out we would pay almost ten times the closing costs less on our interest over ten years, so YES! – and I’d caught a bit of a chill. When the weather warms up, the basement gets colder because the furnace isn’t running all the time. I don’t think I heard it fire up all morning, in fact, so I was cold enough to put on a long-sleeve t-shirt, a flannel shirt and a jacket before heading out the door. Turned right around and went back in to ditch the jacket when, three steps from the front stoop, I realized I would be way too hot if I wore it. Peeled out of the flannel shirt after walking for about fifteen minutes, too.

I would normally be very reluctant to declare that spring is here, in spite of the season— excuse me, freakishly unseasonable weather, if not for the robin I heard singing in the neighbor’s tree when I went out to get the paper this morning. A robin! I’m sure there’s a far more objective sign of spring, but just one singing robin did an awful lot to lift my spirits this morning, and when I saw wood violets blossoming along the curb of someone’s front lawn that I passed as I walked home from the library this afternoon, my favorite e.e. cummings poem popped into my head:

spring, omnipotent goddess, thou dost
inveigle into crossing sidewalks the
unwary june-bug and the frivolous angleworm
thou dost persuade to serenade his
lady the musical tom-cat,thou stuffest
the parks with overgrown pimply
cavaliers and gumchewing giggly
girls and not content
Spring, with this
thou hangest canary-birds in parlor windows

spring slattern of seasons you
have dirty legs and a muddy
petticoat,drowsy is your
mouth your eyes are sticky
with dreams and you have
a sloppy body
from being brought to bed of crocuses
When you sing in your whiskey voice
               the grass
rises on the head of the earth
and all the trees are put on edge

spring,
of the jostle of
thy breasts and the slobber
of your thighs
i am so very
               glad that the soul inside me Hollers
for thou comest and your hands
are the snow
and thy fingers are the rain,
and i hear
the screech of dissonant
flowers,and most of all
i hear your stepping
               freakish feet
               feet incorrigible
ragging the world,

spring? | 2:48 pm CDT
Category: daily drivel | Tags:
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