Two weeks of vacation under my belt and it’s time to get crackin’. So, what am I doing? Avoiding my work inbox and hoping nobody calls. Probably not the best strategy. I’ll give it another two minutes, then get to work.
A change came over me this weekend. Like the swallows returning to San Juan and the whores to Sprague Ave., I felt the sudden onset of Spring. The signs are subtle, but if you know what to look for, it is obvious. First, there’s the onslaught of “SPRING IS HERE!” columns in the local newspapers. For someone with my finely trained eyes and keen intellect, I know to interpret that as meaning that spring is here. Second, there are all the birds in the backyard, strutting and bustling about in orgiastic enthusiasm, trying to simultaneously get a little something while not getting eaten by the hawks that like to hang out in the snag on the west property line. Third, there’s the subtle shift in light and temperature. It is no longer friggin’ cold and overcast. It is now sunny and, damn, with that wind chill, I guess it’s still friggin’ cold, but at least it isn’t overcast. So, Spring is here, blowing in under Winter’s skirts for a good goose. And with that, it’s time to get to work. Maybe later I’ll ramble on a bit about vacation, the broken-jawed dog and Secaucus. And yes, I realize there was no ode in all that. Hasta.
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