Spring

     Come! Enter now, lady of gossamer wings.

     You speak ever gently of all of those things

         that punctuate dreams in the mists of still morns.

     Your presence brings promise of days yet unborn

         to be dripping profusely with sweet golden rays

             and azure

     Oh yes, lady,

         send me those days. 

Written by me in 1978 or '79. An indulgence, and terrible poetry, I know. But it does express the way we're all feeling right now.

So where is she? Spring, that is. It's sucker fishing time — charmingly spelled "succor fishing" by my Terry. (And really, is there any greater relief than having the sun, at long last, warm your face?)

We've had the sun for days, brilliant sun. But no warmth. So will it snow on our brownies like it did a few years ago? Possibly. Will we be standing on top of the fire grate in our desperation for warmth? Likely.

As for netting suckers, let's just say our bend of the river will be a safe place for the fish come Saturday night. For despite frequent calls to, "Check the net!" we rarely find one of the little, er, suckers in its grasp.

So what's the point?

Throwing off the confines of winter.

Feeling fresh air (along with a bit of wood smoke) in our lungs.

Sitting on a log beside friends we haven't seen in months.

Watching our breath clouds mingle with the steam from our chili.

Remembering what it's like to pee in the woods.

Spring.