Well, winter arrived in a nasty way yesterday here in New England -- grey, cold, gusty wind from the North, driving cold rain, leaves thumping instead of floating...a coating of dirty ice on everything.
I turn to bizarre thoughts of spring. Who better to guide me in bizarre thoughts than ee cummings, with his poem about the onset of spring.
The waiting begins...
by E. E. Cummings
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little lame baloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddyandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
when the world is puddle-wonderful
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and