If ever there was a year for a change of season, it's this one. I don't mean the traditional change over from Winter into Spring, I mean a whole new kind of Spring needs to show up. Now.
"Old Man Winter," my frostbitten foot. There was nothing slow, or feeble, or gently-white-haired about the hoary-arsed monster who moved in last November. I was born and raised in Minnesota and I don't ever remember a harder, harsher, longer, bleaker winter than the one still hanging around as if he owns the place. We're under siege, and let's face it folks - he's not moving out anytime soon.
Don't look to March to save us. Today is already the 16th and March is neither a lion nor a lamb, but a lily-livered chicken S#%& who rolled over for Winter and let him have his way with him.
It's time to stand up and face forward.
If we have any hope of kicking that hoary arse to the curb, then April can't afford to pussy-foot onto the stage. We need a Lara Tomb Raider kind of Month, a Month that comes out blazing and takes no prisoners. I want April to locate, appropriate and strap on every flame-throwing, torch-launching, scorch-spitting weapon in the weather arsenal. I want to wake up one morning in the next few weeks and have Winter obliterated, annihilated and gone - Gone, Baby, Gone.
So I'm putting the Pagan Gods of Spring on notice. Find April. Wake her up. Take her by the shoulders and rattle her teeth. Do whatever you need to do, but make sure she knows the traditional white gloves are off and it's no time to play the lady. Take her to the armory and have her start target practice.
Tell her when we see her, she better be packing heat.
Tell us how you really feel Mags!
ReplyDelete