Greetings from the land that winter forgot. Our trees celebrating with full Bacchanalia. However, driving rain and wind storms put a damper on their pollen parade.
Instead of streams of yellow running down our street, torrential rain is indiscriminately batting it somewhere in the outfield. The wind stripping the trees of their branches faster than teenagers can skinny dip.
Trying to up the ante, Papa Haydn conducts the sneeze symphony in G Major, as in major gusto. Surprise.
Yet our trees are in the mood for love, is it simply because they’re near me?
Their modus operandi for spring . . . wind, weather, pollen.
Leaving me to ponder since we’ve been trapped inside, is that what started the music war in my office yesterday?
I’m proofreading a data base prior to launch. In need of something to keep me awake, I tapped YouTube for a little Meagan Trainor on volume 1. Apparently “being all about that base, no treble” caused a little uncus. Because my cubicle partner (who is also my husband) decided this meant war.
Gifted with an uncanny knack for search engine usage, he found “funny music”—off key, painful—with skull jarring max volume.
We called a truce over a cup of Joe.
I credit the rain, the wind, and the trees with their Bacchanalia.
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Happy St. Patrick’s Day to those of you celebrating.