Early Mud

Yesterday, March 8, it hit 60F/16C at the Cat Farm.  Snow melted, mud appeared.  It was, in short, a mess.

Come evening, came the winds, and on the overnight, rain.  It’s a bright and sunny 40F/4C as I type, and the landscape is a wasteland of puddles, hardened heaps of slag-colored snow, low-lying mud wallows, and dust-devils doing square dances up and down the road.

So!  To celebrate the coming of, erm, not-winter, today’s guest poet is e.e. cummings.


in Just-
spring          when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles          far          and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it’s
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far          and             wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
balloonMan          whistles
                –e.e. cummings (1894-1962)

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