Here at the Secret Lair, Spring does not fall on some arbitrary date. No. Spring, like stupid, is as it does and here at the Lair it is defined as the first morning on which I don’t reluctantly roll out of the sack and immediately lunge toward the coat hooks to keep from freezing my ass.
See, in the high desert the day/night temperature swing can be pretty extreme. So in the lead-up to Spring I always leave a trail of warm garments through the morning which must be remembered and policed up at some point. It’s a pain. There have been years when I didn’t put the woodstove to bed until sometime in May, even though the days were quite warm.
But this morning I woke in a t-shirt and stayed in a t-shirt. This was so invigorating I had the chickens tended, breakfast cooked and the whole Lair swept out before seven. Ghost’s bed had become completely gross; I hauled it out to the laundry table in the yard and gave it a going over. Then the kindling box went behind the woodstove and all the dogs’ stuff got moved over to make a little more room…
And now I’m in a mood to dust stuff. Sheesh.
Invigorating – that’s what Spring is.
It’s followed by Summer, where all I want to do is hide from the sun.
The spring is sprung, the grass is riz.
I wonder where the boidie is.
They say the boidie’s on the wing.
But that’s absoid. The wing is on the bird.