03.19.01 - 18:09:22

Right. So.

Sunny skies sleeps in the morning, he doesn't know when to rise. Closes his weary eyes upon the day - lookat him yawning.

I don't remember the precise sequence for the lyrcis to that song, but I rather like it. That song. In fact, I quote like it. I know my dad has a few James Taylor albums someplace, but I think that was on a record my uncle gave me when I was five or so, which had Bruce Springsteen singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town, and Dr. John doing Splish-Splash I was takin' a bath... and Janis Ian singing this song I absolutely _loved_ called Jinny the Flying Girl.

And I think sunny skies was on that one.

And, oh, they're sunny skies this morning, though the intensity of newness has faded wth the encroaching afternoon, and now the horizon is a washed out and irritable white made by high cirrus clouds and the unrepentant sun. Forsythia is always my first surprised - true surprise - because I've come to expect daffy-down-dillies pushing through the wet earth in January and blooming in February.

i blame global warming.

i blame global warming for a helluva lot, and now that i'm being a good citizen and taking mass transit and walking almost everywhere i can be even more smug about my place in the scheme of things vis-a-vis everyone else.

i still (notice the transition, capitals to no-capitals? i didn't, until just now) need snow, like a drug. baby, i'm an addict - i want storms, white-out conditions and three days spent half-glued to the weather channel as they report from someplace far less affected than you and you dream these igloo dreams of white and bright bright sun and the snap of cold air across your nostrils, as you charge outside and roll around at a world transformed, and marvel at the 'possum's slender tracks in the snow, or the deer fleeing the chill in the high country and hoping for some fresh sweet shoots hidden beneath the drifts in your backyard.

one of those days where everything is called off for a reason, more of a reason than just a forecast, and you know everyone's staying home. where - if you want to go to the bar - you suit up in skiing gear and tromp down the middle of the uninhabited streets like archaeologists down the grand avenue of some massive, awe-inspiring ruin.

damn damn damn.

i want it.

again.