Spring officially started on Monday. Which of course, for Nebraskans, meant that there was snow in the forecast for Wednesday. Like winter had suddenly become a rich old man who miraculously outlasted the doctor’s prognosis by five years, just to spite his gold-digging grandchildren.
It seems cruel that we should have to endure such a thing. Indeed, even as I write this, a flock of bedraggled and disillusioned college students parades past my window, leveling their torsos sideways against the wind and crying, “O, Groundhog, how could you fail us so?”
These are uncertain times.
But I say unto you now, Nebraskans! Take heart! We of all people should know, the weather tomorrow is almost never the same as the weather today, and that is both our blessing and curse.
So wear your floral print.
Wash your car.
And never give up on your freshly sprouting tulip beds, because one day soon they’ll be the envy of all your neighbors.
May this poem be an Easter encouragement to you.
The Ghost of Winter Past
The Ghost of Winter Past
came for a visit last night.
This spirit was a bitter one,
angry at us petty humans
for not fully appreciating his glory.
For our delight
in the promise of springtime.
In his jealousy he rudely hijacked the brisk northerly winds,
turning a chilly spring rain
into a thick
heavy
snowfall.
Flying sideways through the air,
like a drift of powdered sugar with its own personal gravity,
the snow attempted to reclaim the world.
The Ghost of Winter Past
had proved the weather man wrong.
“Ha! See now?”
he said.
“I will not be forgotten.”
But just then the sun,
fed up with his antics,
decided to make an appearance.
Fashionably late.
And with a wink,
he sent that troublemaker packing.
No comments:
Post a Comment