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Retired publishing executive ecstatic with the idea of spending most of his time on the coast of Maine

Monday, May 23, 2011


Grass loves it, was a foot high the other day before I mowed; slugs crossing the perpetually wet asphalt love it; weeds thrive, although today (50, foggy, fickle) even the dandelion flowers were closed up; dealers of fossil fuels are cackling in their counting houses; it just slides off the eiders' backs; moss is in heaven; bottlers of windshield fluid and rain gear pad their IRAs; people who blog about the weather commiserate gleefully...

Sunscreen makers hate it; Arizonans in New England on business stand amazed and cold; trees refuse to leaf out all the way; I saw flowering daffodils on my walk today (what month is it anyway?); birds seem quieter, a little indifferent, depressed, or is that my %$#@& pathetic fallacy talking; lovers of May can't believe it; even Homo Maine-iens, usually so optimistic and giddy, despairs a little...

This delayed spring, this missed spring, this we're-jumping-right-to-summer spring is one for the ages.

Here's a reminder of what blue sky looks like (we had to go to the Netherlands for our spring this year), also a couple of tulips.

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