November 11: Early Summer Days, Wishful Thinking, Praying for the End of Snow

Early summer days are a jubilee time for birds.  In the fields, around the house, in the barn, in the woods, in the swamp--everywhere love and songs and nests and eggs...

I love those two sentences.  It makes me think of those spring mornings when there's a riot of bird song in the air.  When everything is green buds and blossoms.

Especially today, when the world is a riot of snow, I miss that jubilee time for birds.  I have spent exactly twenty hours shoveling and snowblowing today.  OK, I'm exaggerating, but, at 5 a.m. this morning, trying to dig my car out, I was ready to set my house on fire and buy a ticket to Aruba.  Or Phoenix.  Or Dayton.  Wherever snow is nonexistent.

There's about two feet of white piled in various locations on my property.   And it's still coming down.  I'm going to have to drag my ass out of bed at 5 a.m. again to contend with the damage the snow plows are going to inflict upon my driveway.  This morning, it was about two feet, thick and heavy.  I expect the same tomorrow morning.

This evening, I am praying for an end to this damn snow storm.  Twenty-four inches of snow at the beginning of November is too much.  A dusting, yes.  A light coating, maybe.  But two feet?!!!

Forgive Saint Marty.  He's feeling a little like Ralphie's old man from A Christmas Story.  Except his obscenities this evening went something like this:  "I hate f%$#ing winter!  I hate f *#$ing cold!  I hate f@$&ing people!"

Get the glue!!!