of a tennis player, hiker, writer
|That does it! Where the hell is Spring? No. I'm serious. It's 29 degrees outside! Is this the definition of spring in anyone's book?
The pets need food. Oh great. Where are my slippers? And not the sandal looking ones either. I want the slippers with the fur inside. They look like ankle boots. You know, I wore them this past winter!. Better yet, bring me my coffee; let me snuggle underneath the warmth of my toasty comforter. The Dobermans can starve. The cat too; there's plenty of field mice running around the farm for her. ‘Bout time she earned her keep.
But where is Spring?
Wasn't she supposed to report to work last Monday? On March 20th? Clock in time: 1:26 PM EST Bob Van Dillen said so, during his morning weather broadcast for CNN headline news. I was passing by the den TV, on my way to the laundry room when I heard his voice; his words bringing happiness to my ears. A tingly happy feeling fluttered throughout my body. I caught my breath. My heart skipped a beat. My eyes halfway closed in a satisfied moment of silence. Ah, I love Spring. Well, okay, I can do without the pollen. But next to Summer, Spring ranks second in my list of favorite seasons.
What happened? She only works twelve measly little weeks out of the entire year. She's barely shown her face since her shift began. I'm lodging a complaint. After all, I've been robbed. Seven days of seventy-five degrees or so. Instead, I've gotten cold winds, low temps, cloudy skies.
But then again, maybe she's sick. With the bird flu.
I can see it now. Calling into work...knowing you only have to perform 84 out of 365 days a year- yet you can't even make it in the first week. What's the boss gonna say? Spring reaches over, gropes for her cell phone on the bedside table.
"Um, yeah, Mom? ..." she's stammering. Nobody likes pissing Mother Nature off. "So...yeah, um, here's the thing," she says in the sickest sounding voice possible. "I can't come into work today."
Long dramatic pause
"My joints ache, my head hurts. I have a fever of 102," she pauses, coughing, "Plus, I barely got any sleep last night." She mumbles a few incoherent symptoms - for good measure.
The wrath of Mother Nature immediately melts. With images of her first born lying in bed, sick, and helpless, how can she express her usual crankiness?
"Can Summer cover for me?" Spring asks, her voice weak and hollow.
"No," Mother Nature says, "She's AWOL. Some concert in Japan or something. Don't worry. You just take care of yourself sweetie. I'll take care of things around here."
"She's busy. Off with her boyfriend."
With Spring down, Summer missing, and Autumn out of pocket, that only leaves Winter.
Sheesh! I'm going back to bed.