I’m Mad At Spring

We were right on track – and by “we”, I mean Minnesota – with this whole seasonal thing. You know: Fall, Winter, Spring, with the eventual hope of Summer.

Summer!! What's that you say? Unfrozen water? Temperatures that can’t kill you? The ability to leave the house without dressing in multiple layers first?

It was all working out so nicely.

Just two weeks ago, we were well on our way. After nearly five months of the porch/trunk of your car doubling as a freezer; five months of the weird sensation of being able, when well below freezing, to feel your eyeballs in your skull; after five months of the formation of strange ice balls in your nostrils, the sun came out. The glaciers in the front yard beat a silent and sullen retreat; and Minnesotans stepped into the sunshine, blinking their tiny pink eyes, their pale faces turned toward the sun…

We went crazy as only those in the northern climes can. Boots were kicked off and left in sandy corners of the entryway. Heavy coats and hats were abandoned in favor of jaunty jackets and cute little caps. Parks erupted in spontaneous games of Frisbee. Teenagers put on shorts and tank tops and stood goose-pimpled and defiant while the older folk tut-tutted.

Windows were thrown open.

But then something happened, something very un-Spring, something I certainly did not authorize and cannot condone.

Spring went away.

The wind blew its way into town, ripping the smiles from our faces. We skittered down the streets like fallen leaves, back to our heavy coats.

We closed our windows.

And I’m against it.

I don’t know who I have to get drunk and dance with to get Spring back, but by golly, I’m doin’ it.

I do it for the people.

I’m doin’ it for you, man.

You can owe me.