Happy Spring. It may be unofficially the official first day of Spring, but I am decidedly wintery. Call me foul. Gloomy. I’m the ice on your car door handle. My mood is like salt residue on paint, or plowed snow at the curb: too mean to melt and too dirty to toss. So take your flowers, your joyous talk of warming trends and long hours of sunshine. Spring is here and I’m not ready for the smiley happy world of cherry blossoms and green grass. So I’m not exactly excited about the grand and completely useless “First Day of Spring” business, courtesy of the Spring, or Vernal, Equinox. At 7:02 am today, in fact, the sun crossed directly over the Earth’s equator, kind of creating a moment where there was equal light to darkness. And, thus, the Equinox came and introduced the First Day of Spring, and on this day tribes throughout time have danced and chanted to a______ heathen God for a bountiful harvest. Or maybe a virgin or a new coat. That’s what this Equinox business is all about — the renewal of our energy in the long battle against the shadows of failure, of hunger, and death.
Bah. Spring in 2013 seems to be as fake as a marketing campaign. It’s still dreary outside, thank you very much, so for now I’ll stick with cold mornings, biting gusts of wind and lifeless trees against a gray landscape. It’s better to be real, bitter and lazy than a happy fool who has to spread mulch and mow lawns.
Okay. Maybe not.
But I can’t help the lingering effects that a late winter has put upon me; it is more difficult to get up in the morning and easier to go to bed early at night. There seems to be less to anticipate, day in and day out, and the long slow slog seems not to make a heaping pile of difference. There are times that I long for the days when I would sit on the porch deep into the night, drinking beer, smoking Marlboros and watching the world go by.
Spring or no, those days are gone forever.
I suppose that really is Spring — in a metaphysical sense — because the dawn of a new season is the start of a change in the weather, in life and in point of view. Without it life is a soccer ball to the face on a cold and snowy afternoon, fading hopes for a new leaf never quite turned and tattered optimism that the reason to believe in the things in front are better than the things behind.