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.