Mother Nature (that sulky wench) sure planted us a facer this weekend.
From going no-boots, gloves and scarf last week to hauling out the winter gear from storage and thanking my stars that my gnarly winter tires are still on my vehicle.
Brrrr. March slunk into April, which is bashing us about the head with awful weather. I’m certainly not venturing outside today, so I have no excuse but to write.
In Act III, scene II of Shakespeare’s King Lear, the maddened King wanders the heaths, raging to his Fool:
Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow!
You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench’d our steeples, drown’d the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Strike flat the thick rotundity o’ the world!
Crack nature’s moulds, all germens spill at once
That make ingrateful man!
William really whipped open his emotional floodgates on that passage. We’re all Fools, thinking the worst was over. And yes, I’m ungrateful for yet another week of cold.
I remember in high school, when memorization of swathes of poetry and dramatic passages was a requirement to pass from one grade to another, Sister Mary John Frances would stand ramrod straight in front of the blackboard and stab her wooden pointer at the next victim…uh, speaker. If we didn’t know the work, we’d have to write it on in dusty yellow chalk that always smeared all over our uniforms.
Don’t ask me what I had for lunch on Friday, but if you give me a few lines from a Shakespeare play, I can probably recite a chunk of it, even if I don’t remember the name of the play.
But the critters who live in our yard are confused. Two days ago, under a warming spring sun, the squirrels (long-tailed rats) were out frolicking up and down the trees, no doubt having indiscriminate sex with each other to celebrate longer days. Today, one sad furball scampered up the snow-covered burning bush tree to sit on our kitchen window, staring as we ate our breakfast.
Sorry, Rocky. If you’ve got the munchies, go search for all the giant green walnuts you stored last fall in the deck planters and under the barbecue cover.
I’m longing for our honeymoon villa in Soneva Kiri, Ko Kut, an island in the Gulf of Thailand. The pool was always warm and the air fragrant with flowers. We’d stuff our faces at the brunch buffet then drive over in the afternoon and binge on fresh ice cream. <sigh>
All right. Playtime is over. I’m starting my vegetable seeds today – late, but I’m still hopeful. Then, it’s back to work re-weaving my eviscerated manuscript.