Ever since my youth, I've heard the phrase, In like a lion and out like a lamb, used to describe March's weather. Ah hem. (That was me clearing my throat incase you missed it.)I have a bone to pick with the universe.
March is done. Finished. Over. Where's the lamb?
It's not here. Not today. Not for me. Here we have something like, In like a lion out like a griffin. Why do I say this? It's simple and involves little white flakes falling from the perpetually gray sky. Didn't it used to be blue? Before the winter came and sucked the color from the world?
Is it not enough that we have nine months of frozen, snow-filled torure, followed closely by the shortest spring ever? It's in April. I'm not sure which day, but it only lasts for about six hours. If it happens during the night, too bad, you missed it.
Then we have three months of summer. Hot, dry, summer. Did I mention it was hot? And dry?
Then on to fall. It lasts a little longer than spring. Maybe two or three days then, WHAM. Winter.
All in all, my favorite seasons are fall and sring. Yeah, I know. Bad choices, huh? But they're warm.
They are followed by summer, but never, ever winter. No, not ever.
I hate the cold. It nipps through my flesh and gnaws at my bones. It never gets enough either. It just keeps chewing. Devouring me piece by peice until the sun finally returns and banishes it for a few short months.
So, why? Why can't I have the lamb? Just one fluffy, WARM lamb? I'd create a nice spot for it in the back yard. Give it the best food, let it eat my flowers.(But not my pea plants. Devotion can only go so far.) Get it toys. And no, I don't know what kind of toys lambs like, but I'd find out. Fast. Because I would love the lamb. And Little Fluffy (The lamb. Yes, I named it.) would keep it spring. Forever. Sigh of bliss.
But, no. I'm stuck with the hungry griffin. I think he's in league with the groundhog. They're close. And evil. And I'm sick of them. Bring on the lamb!