Today is Friday, March 21. Yesterday, March 20, was the first day of spring. Everyone loves spring. It's when the rains fall, the flowers start to bloom, you wake up every morning to birds chirping, most of the animal kingdom is in heat, and so on. It's the sort of thing they write poems about. Lots and lots of poems. In fact, it's such a magical time of year, that I'm going to share some photos with you of what spring means to Chicagoans, who've been stuck inside hiding from the bitter cold, snow, slush, and biting winds for several months now.
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing.
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Thomas Nashe (1567–1601)
Summer's Last Will and Testament (1600)
And yet . . .
The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.
1 comment:
I hear ya. We're supposed to get nine inches here in Madison. From my window it looks like we're already 2/3 of the way there.
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