Considering spring has come with a storm warning for heavy snowfall tonight I thought we needed a good laugh in flowers. Enjoy memories of summer and keep hoping for spring.
These were taken locally last summer.
I don’t know about you but just look-ing at these flowers makes me happy.
And if you need a jump start on your writing as I often do, check out this site.
Winter seems to have dragged on forever this year. I know it’s only mid-March but I want spring. Now. I know it will come. As someone once assured me spring will come…if not this year, then next for sure. Unfortuantely, in some dark corner of my mind, along with neuroses and dire imaginations, lurks the fear that maybe it will be next year. So I look for signs. Any sign.
Unfortunately the ground is still under a thick blanket of snow so I don’t see any hint of green grass, tulips poking through the snow, or even dirty brown soil. However, I do see puddles forming and water trickling down the sewer drains. Ahh. A good sign for sure.
And we no longer have more nightime hours than daytime. (Is that controlled by daylight saving time do you think?). In fact, it’s light long enough in the evenings to now go for a walk after supper. Another indication that spring is on its way. And yes, I’m counting every possible sign.
But the biggest indication of all? Old Baldy sitting in the treetop. Have a look for yourself.
In the past we have had up to 7 of them hanging around eating carrion. Okay, I confess I am really grasping at straws here counting this fella as a sign of spring because I saw him for the first time March 1. I can’t imagine what he thought when it dropped to -30 C. Nor can I imagine how he kept warm. No doubt he was grumbling and grousing about the cold weather just like the rest of us.
Oh wait, water is dripping off the eaves. A sure sign winter is dying. Looks like we’ll see it this year for sure.
This is writing related. Sort of. I checked out an e-course I was interested in. As usual, I checked out the presentator to see if I liked what I saw. Her website opened on a page all about chickens. Very pretty chickens I confess but this is also where I–a country person who has grown and/or produced most of our own food for years–admit to loathing chickens.
In all fairness I admit they serve a purpose. They produce meat and eggs
They can be nice to look at
especially day old chicks
and free range chickens help get rid of bugs.
So you might well ask, what’s the problem? The problem is I hate chickens. Always have. Always will. In my mind they are dirty, noisy, cannabalistic and creepy. And it’s not that I haven’t known a lot of chickens in my time. Hundreds of them, probably thousands over the years. Never met one I liked. Never. So when we moved to this place I made one stipulation. No chickens. Ever.
I quote part of it here.
-They cluck for no good reason.
-They make loud clicking noises when they groom their feathers.
-People keep giving them to us–we’re on Clucky 3.
-They have to put their heads up to swallow. Intelligent design, my ass.
-They poop everywhere.
-They’re dumb. Studies using chickens as subjects require hundreds of trials before they learn anything.
-They eat everything, including chicken meat and their own poop.
-They nibble our flowers.
-They shrilly crow all the time, not just in the morning–that would require intelligence.
-They can’t even fly well. Useless.
-They’re ugly. And they smell bad.
-Every night the chicken clumsily flies into a tree to sleep and usually falls out at least once.
-The chicken thinks he’s smarter than me–eyeing me while sneaking over to the flowers in plain sight.
-Their eyelids go up. Freaky.
-They evolved from dinosaurs but they suck.
-They’re hard to catch.
-They are pretty tasty, though.
For the best chicken movie go to this YouTube. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xPYChyfxWNs
So I decided I could not take a course from woman who admitted a fondness for chickens. I will wait and find another course of interest.
You are currently browsing the Linda Ford blog archives for March, 2009.