Seems like it was ages since it was Kasimir Pulaski Day, but apparently it was only eight days. Eight days of March coming in like a lion, not the raging beast of stage and screen, more like the guy you see at the zoo, just kind of grumpy even with those that perfectly good hunk of cow that he has barely touched because he is not in the mood, just like those two comely lionesses lolling on the rocks by the cave who he is not in the mood for either which is just as well because neither are they.
It has not been all that bad, storms seem to be raging to the east, to the west, to the north and the house, but we here seem to be missing most of the mayhem, just that boring day after day of temps just above freezing and frequent rain and raw wind.
Like the poet awaiting a rebirth of wonder, we await oh just a breath of spring, just like 60 degrees for a few hours, just enough to shed that jacket for a bit and gambol in the meadow and tiptoe through the tulips for just a bit.
And not much to make of pi day, already passed just after three and a quarter this morning, though I think it lasts until that same time this afternoon. We have a gentleman baker among us and I believe Beagles is no stranger to the kitchen. Maybe one or both of them could bake a pie, which would fill the kitchen with pleasant smells and smells evoke memories and memories lead to stories which the blog needs and which I plainly have none of today.
No comments:
Post a Comment