Definitely have some spare spring. I will it in your direction! The azaleas have been blooming for a week, along with bunches of other flowers for even longer.
And yeah, malaria season is apparently a Thing here, to the point where they spray pesticides by helicopter during the time of year for mosquitoes. :/ I hate skeeters.
It rained here....also you may appreciate this two-word response I got from a friend in London when I asked if they got to see the total eclipse: "Bloody clouds."
It's not ironic, it's ritual. The spring ephemerals are completely sincere in their brave and stubborn efforts to come up as soon as possible, just before spring is completely certain. So they get the last snow dumped on their heads, but it's a badge of honour.
And I have no idea why I typed orchid when I meant crocus, so have some skunk cabbage to balance it out:
Skunk Cabbage - by Mary Oliver
And now as the iron rinds over the ponds start dissolving, you come, dreaming of ferns and flowers and new leaves unfolding, upon the brash turnip-hearted skunk cabbage slinging its bunches leaves up through the chilling mud. You kneel beside it. The smell is lurid and flows out in the most unabashed way, attracting into itself a continual spattering of protein. Appalling its rough green caves, and the thought of the thick root nested below, stubborn and powerful as instinct! But these are the woods you love, where the secret name of every death is life again - a miracle wrought surely not of mere turning but of dense and scalding reenactment. Not tenderness, not longing, but daring and brawn pull down the frozen waterfall, the past. Ferns, leaves, flowers, the last subtle refinements, elegant and easeful, wait to rise and flourish. What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.
Don't you remember the new order of the seasons? Winter: it snows; Spring, we welcome with snow; Summer, there are only a few spare flakes; Autumn, the snows become stronger; Winter: it snows again for real.
Winter: it snows; Spring, we welcome with snow; Summer, there are only a few spare flakes; Autumn, the snows become stronger; Winter: it snows again for real.
"Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!"
Also, I note with displeasure that the new order of the seasons is more like "Always winter EXCEPT on Christmas".
Hey, it snowed for the solstice! I appreciate that.
(It amazes me in retrospect how much I accepted Aslan as solstitial myth and how few of the Christian implications occurred to me. I genuinely thought of year-kings and the dying sun before I thought of Jesus. Always winter and never Christmas: never the hinge of the year, when it turns back toward the light; just darkness and short days, the deadlock of winter. My childhood knowlege of comparative religion was better about everything but the mainstream.)
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We're open to compromise! Do you have any spare spring?
At least y'all will get to laugh at us during malaria season.
. . . you have a malaria season?
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And yeah, malaria season is apparently a Thing here, to the point where they spray pesticides by helicopter during the time of year for mosquitoes. :/ I hate skeeters.
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I can sympathize.
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I am just not up to ironic May flurries this year.
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And I have no idea why I typed orchid when I meant crocus, so have some skunk cabbage to balance it out:
Skunk Cabbage
- by Mary Oliver
And now as the iron rinds over
the ponds start dissolving,
you come, dreaming of ferns and flowers
and new leaves unfolding,
upon the brash
turnip-hearted skunk cabbage
slinging its bunches leaves up
through the chilling mud.
You kneel beside it. The smell
is lurid and flows out in the most
unabashed way, attracting
into itself a continual spattering
of protein. Appalling its rough
green caves, and the thought
of the thick root nested below, stubborn
and powerful as instinct!
But these are the woods you love,
where the secret name
of every death is life again - a miracle
wrought surely not of mere turning
but of dense and scalding reenactment. Not
tenderness, not longing, but daring and brawn
pull down the frozen waterfall, the past.
Ferns, leaves, flowers, the last subtle
refinements, elegant and easeful, wait
to rise and flourish.
What blazes the trail is not necessarily pretty.
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No, just kidding.
I hope.
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"Always winter and never Christmas; think of that!"
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From your mouth to the troposphere's ears!
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Aaaaaargggggghhhhhh.
Feh.
I didn't poke my head outside, so I didn't see my shadow, so there had better not be another fucking six weeks of this sort of thing.
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I think we need stronger sympathetic magic. Do you think setting a lot of fires would do it?
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AVERT!
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Yeah, the crocuses down our way are confused as well.
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I'm not even sure we have crocuses!
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Also, I note with displeasure that the new order of the seasons is more like "Always winter EXCEPT on Christmas".
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Hey, it snowed for the solstice! I appreciate that.
(It amazes me in retrospect how much I accepted Aslan as solstitial myth and how few of the Christian implications occurred to me. I genuinely thought of year-kings and the dying sun before I thought of Jesus. Always winter and never Christmas: never the hinge of the year, when it turns back toward the light; just darkness and short days, the deadlock of winter. My childhood knowlege of comparative religion was better about everything but the mainstream.)