Its mud season here in upstate New York. Some days are cold and clammy like today when the wind whipped through us on our walk. Other days, the sun shines and a warm breeze pushes through the cold. It’s the time of year when you know its coming, the nice weather, and you hope it comes soon because you just can’t take another load of wood being dragged into the kitchen in the blue sled. People are all a twitter, they come out like the bees when the sun comes out and complain when its cold. We complain that this is the coldest spring we have ever had, but we know it’s not. We complain that this is a real sign that global warming is happening, after all, last year at this time, the lilacs were almost in bloom.
There are nice things about this time of year. The anticipation of all that may be as hope springs anew, the flowers that bloom every week from now until September that keep us looking around. And of course there is the mud. The mud that gets on the dogs paws and the bottom of your pants when you go for a walk, the mud that looks like it would make such a pretty castle or paddy, if only I was 8 again. Someone once said on a day like today, “oh, we will get all muddy out there.” “Great” I said, “it’s mud season, we are supposed to get muddy.”
inspiration for this: e.e. cummings: “In just spring when the world is mud-luscious the little lame baloonman” and Garrison Keiller