I am feeling a bit frisky (for an old guy – not quite as bent over as in winter) as I begin to experience warmth not generated by oil, gas or wood, but by the sun, which orb had betrayed me as recently as last fall. Cold, yellow, stone in the sky, seems to be morphing, turning into a bit of a heater. Cheers bro, coulda done that a bit sooner, yo.
So, like a bear considering re-emergence, I stick my head outside for the first time in 90 days and I find that my face does not instantly freeze in place, with a frown. I had forgotten this other, warmer, outdoor thing. Where am I? I have missed you all. How was your Christmas? And your winter in general? Ugh. Sorry, but my cave was just the best.
Our great New England flirt, Mother Nature-North East, has begun her annual tease and I am drawn in; no, I am enchanted; no, in love. Yes, that’s it. I think of nothing else, no one else, but my betrothed, spring lover. Warm partner. Her face is the sun. Her breath is a balmy breeze. Her voice is a bird song. Her touch, warm – when she wants it to be. Is she capricious? Surely. Worth it? Duh. I am a slave to her unfaithful charms.