unbearable
o... mood and weather and days most foul. April truly is the cruelest month.
Last Thursday, strangely cubic ice pellets began pounding down on my wee world, stinging shards that melded into one slick unshatterable surface over everything, rendering the streets and trails and walkways impassable and treacherous. When the sun appeared on Sunday, it was white and shrill and blinding, glancing off the icy roof tops and rink-like yards and hurting my head.
And then Monday, it snowed again. Raging winter up and down the streets and making me want to cry. Today wasn't much better, but at least I was able to get the wolf to the park for a proper walk. Of course, the minute I had myself convinced that this wasn't too bad, that it was kind of pretty in that grey, battered, wind torn, Wyeth way, I wiped out and landed heavily on my backside, wrenching my neck something awful in the effort to keep my head from bouncing off the ice.
And now my lungs feel full and heavy, my throat thick and itchy, and my nose is running like a faucet and I'm sure I'm catching cold. Or SARS. I'm not impressed.
I'm taking this personally, this unseasonable, unreasonable assault. I'm protesting loudly. I'm marching in the streets with slogan spattered signs. I'm raging and pacing frantically around the icy corpse of my would-be spring. I'm retreating to bed with cocoa and my wolf.
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