There are blue skies, and there are blue skies. Some are bright with splashes of fluffy white clouds that float aimlessly, in no specific direction, bumping into each other and then going along their merry way again, morphing into shapes of anything you can imagine. I love those skies, and it matters not to me if some of those clouds fill up with water to the point that they burst uncontrolably, spilling huge droplets of rain upon me and everything else that lies beneath them. Because I think maybe in another life I was a duck – but then that is an entirely different story and one I am not in the mood to talk about today.
It is those other blue skies that I think of with such distaste that it makes me literally cringe, and that we’re now experiencing in Minnesota. Like a dull, blue-grey, heavy blanket that hovers above us, it signals the coming of at least nine months of what I call pure hell. The thought of below-freezing temperatures, accompanied by ice and snow and glistening icicles that drip meanacingly off every rooftop, send chills down my spine just to think of it. My gawd, I hate what winter brings.
September, where did you go?