mon. may 19, '08
Pale distant blue behind huddled cumulous, a sulking sky, the last of bitter winter grudgingly holds on, a dog in the mangy season, determined to deny everyone any weather it cannot dominate. But the wheel of the seasons will not be put off for long. The lake shivers in the freighter channel, already roiling with the ships leaving Europe with their tonnages of summer. The marsh birds clack a protest at the sky. Everyone is getting irritable. Winter is getting itself a bad name.