Spring is in the air

It’s snowing and sleeting. In DC, in mid march. A month ago there were days of 75 degree weather. Shining sun, balmy breeze. Now the husky corpse of winter is rotting on our doorsteps. Returned like a revenant, here to pay us back for months of eerily warm and mild weather.

The seasons are melting into each other. I remember a childhood of clearly defined seasons and periods of transition between them. Late summer held hints of autumn. You could hear the whisper of winter in the biting winds of late october or early november. Frost would cover the ground and massacre the insect population. I don’t think we even had frost this year.

Flowers would bloom and birds would chirp, announcing spring right on schedule. The arrival of warmer spring weather is usually so predictable that festivals can be reliably held at the same time every year. But this year the cherished cherry blossoms in DC budded early and are now in danger of dying from the return of colder temperatures.

The goddamn cherry blossoms are vulnerable. Bees are dying in droves, portending the doom of humanity. Heat waves will torch delicate plant and animal life. Water levels will rise, cutting off formerly continuous land masses. The ground will crack and split and shake. Volcanoes will vomit incinerating lava. Those who aren’t swept away by tidal waves of molten rock will choke on dense ash.

We will eat each other. Naked, cowering, and ravenous, we’ll tear at each other’s desiccated flesh. Delirious feasting on friends and family as the sun rains hellfire and the moon weeps blood. And then the many headed serpent will rise up out of the sea, a crown atop each head. A bedazzling whore riding on its back. A ┬ádeafening trumpet blast will herald the apocalypse.

The end of the earth. The last men annihilated in a blaze of cannibalism and sodomy. Every last record of greatness, of beauty and truth wrested from the dank pit of nothingness forever lost. Cold, desolate space expanding without purpose or direction. Transdimensional demons cackling in the void, relishing the reign of senselessness and extinction.

And then, after millenia of crushing darkness, a brilliant light shines. Atoms emerge and lock arms. Matter takes form. The unfolding of creation like it never happened before. The slow, dogged march of life from bubbling plasma to conscious thought.

I might have lifted parts of that scenario from the bible. Not sure how copyright laws work with major religions.

Author: The Empty Subject

Born curmudgeon

One thought on “Spring is in the air”

  1. Your memory fails you. Growing up in the midwest, we had a saying about March: it will either come in like a lion and go out like a lamb, or in like a lamb and out like a lion. March is always volatile. Move along, nothing to see here.

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