Sodden Thursday

The air coming through the window went from briskly cool to icy as the sky darkened and rain and sleet pelted down. At least it was raining, great drops of rain that sploshed and splatted against the window, but the best was yet to come. Thick black clouds crowded closer and the sky lit with jagged forks and tridents of light just before the sky cracked open and boomed: lightning and thunder, the first of the year. Spring is definitely here, even though right now it's icy and slick and the ground is heavy with wet sleet and snow. Not event this late wet snow has daunted the buds on the trees and bushes or the flowers stabbing green spears and brightly colored heads through the steaming ground. Spring will not be delayed.

Now is the time to get out the white shoes and hats, not back during Easter, which is the accepted opening of the season of wearing white. This is spring. This is the season of singing birds, romping squirrels and returning life. Cold as it is this morning as the space heater labors to put the heat back into the room while I huddle under the covers fully dressed, my fingers tingling with cold, I know it won't last. It will snow again today and tomorrow, but it won't last. Spring has a good hold on us now and it won't let go. It will not retreat. Winter will just have to give way until the rest of the seasons have their time.

The garbage trucks are out wheezing, clanging and banging, stopping to gorge and move on. They will circle the neighborhood like vultures, clearing up the detritus and debris before leaving to circle another section of the city. It's Thursday, so they're here banging ice-covered bins and cans against the gaping maw to dislodge the frozen contents into the void and take it somewhere else to dump. I'll bet their hands are colder than mine.

I got word from two local co-authors on one of my books that we're nearly ready to hit the bookstores, cafes and libraries to begin the personal appearances that will take over a big hunk of my free time and weekends for the next year. At least I don't have to sit alone on display with the books. That's something. But right now I've spent some time with my paper journal and now I've dashed off a few words here, so it's time to get up, get breakfast and get to work to earn a few more dollars (very few, I can assure you) and fill my day with something other than books and reading and the infinite pleasure of writing something new or editing something not so new.

That is all. Disperse.