wanderingsoul
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Mud - The Fifth Season - Friday, , March 05, 2004
A couple Friday’s ago I wanted to write about what a beautiful day it was. Last Friday it was a beautiful day also, but since it was Mark’s funeral I really didn’t appreciate it as I might have. Today is another Friday and it is a beautiful day. The sun isn’t shining very much and there is a pretty strong wind blowing and every once in awhile it rains. But it is a beautiful day nonetheless. It is a warm day—well, warm for late Winter. It is in the 50’s today, even without the sun shining much. And that pretty strong wind is a pretty warm wind and it feels more like a caress to the skin than a slap. And the rain is not that drizzly rain that often comes with Winter or even Spring. It is a fresh rain. It smells like an early Spring day fishing in the creek—you know, when you are standing in the creek in the rubber boots in the early morning and there is a mist around you and all you can smell is the water and the worms. Makes me want to go fishing.
Of course, with this nice Spring-like weather comes the mud. We have an extra season where I live. It fits in between Winter and Spring—and it is called Mud. Mud comes with the early thaws of late Winter. I first notice it when I am walking out to the car and my feet are walking on snow but end up sinking into the ground beneath the snow. When I look down at my footprints I notice there is brown mixed in with the white. Once you first see the brown-tinged footprints in the snow, you know Mud has arrived. I walked out to the car to go to work today and I stood at the bottom of my front steps and actually had to PLAN my path to the car. I had two choices that I could see: Walk through mud or walk through grass. Would seem to be a pretty clear choice, wouldn’t it? Well, the grass may LOOK like grass, but it is also really…mud. It is just mud topped with something green that used to be or at some point will become grass. I chose the grass—eternal optimist that I can be. Grass isn’t supposed to squish. By the time I got to my car my shoes were nearly as muddy as they would have been had I chosen the route through the mud.
There is no winning during Mud. I just usually chose brown as the color for everything I wear. Might as well since by the time I get to the car my shoes are brown and my pants legs are spattered with brown. Might as well just give in. And don’t even ask about Sam… He ALWAYS chooses the path through the mud. His favorite season is Mud. By the time he gets from the school bus to the house he looks like the poster child for Mud. He wears brown a lot during Mud also—or I think he does. Well, it all LOOKS brown when he comes in the house…
Saw one of my cellar dwellers (alias the cats that do not like to be in the actual house) this morning. I remember her being a white cat with grey tiger markings. If I had any doubts that Mud has arrived, they are gone now. My white cat is now a grayish brown cat with a very unhappy look on her face.
The sad thing is that Mud usually lasts from late February through early June.
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And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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11/4/2005, 4:07 am
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