“But it’s May,” she wailed, as the snow came down last night. “May twelfth!”
She had me there. The price for breathing some of the cleanest air in North America (when it isn’t dusty and the forest doesn’t burn) is having “spring” become a dirty word, as in, “The sheep got through the winter fine and then the spring just killed them.”
I’m glad this thing’s on auto-pilot now. Otherwise, I’d be responsible.
John Hamilton Farr lives in Taos, New Mexico, U.S.A. As New York Times best-selling author James C. Moore tells it, John is “a man attuned to the world who sees it differently than you and I and writes about it with a language and a vision of life that is impossible to ignore.” See .png)
When I saw the snow coming down Monday night, my comment to my husband was, “Happy fucking May.”
Oh yeah. I’m still making fires in the wood stove twice a day.
Beth!! Please tell me that that most natural mankind’s pleasures is not restricted to May only!!! 😉
JHF, that sheep thing just cracked me up. Thanks for a good laugh!
You’re welcome. It cracks me up, too, and perfectly captures what it feels like here in the spring. 🙂