The shortest month, the one that--here I reach across The Pond--the one that really gets up my nose.
I don't want another winter-sounding month. Don't want the gray skies, the cold, the fog, the rain--none of it. And hell no to ice.
Sure, I've lived where no one in their right mind thinks April means spring. But I don't live there. And won't, ever again.
What about the dozens of robins hopping about in the back yard 3 days ago? Their GIS needs recalibrating. What about the bluebirds nest building in their condo? Good on them. It's February. What about the daffodils sprouting out back? Stop, it's February.
Highlight could be shivering under the starry sky while searching for the Green Comet. One shot this go- round. The ice-blur is back after a 50,000-year-hiatus. Uh, 50,000 years. See you later.
Here is where I gratuitously mention how I saw Haley's Comet in '86 a handful of times. While on a ship headed to the Amazon after departing from Port-au-Prince.
Maybe I could get excited about Hallmark's Loveuary Saturday night premieres. Cue howls of laughter, tears streaming down cheeks.
Maybe I could reread Crime and Punishment.
Might as well schedule a visit to the dentist. Or put an eye out.
Sic transit gloria mundi. Too much?
Shortest month, cruelest month.
Amen!!!
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