The lake in front of my garage door is mercifully absent now, having been reabsorbed (slowly) by the saturated ground sometime during the night. All is not well in Chicagoland, however. There is sleet outside my door this morning. Sleet! First cousin to snow! On April-frickin’-nineTEENTH!!!! I mean, okay, I grew up around here, I know the saying about Chicago weather (“If you don’t like it, wait a minute”), I’m used to this. And yet. Sleet? Now?? Landing on my hyacinths, which had the poor judgment to bloom on the few decent days we had last week (already lost to memory, alas… then again, I am pushing fifty, so maybe that explains it)???
It’s not fair. It’s not fair, dammit!! I ordered spring. Awhile ago. Back at the end of March, to be exact. Who misplaced my order??? Seriously, Mother Nature, you have got to work on quality control. The snow-and-cold imps are running rampant, and the April-showers guys are getting totally carried away. Where are the May flowers? Where’s the warmer weather? Are the pixies in charge of that out sick, have they been furloughed due to the sequester, what?
Many things are unfair these days. The crazy weather. The “sequester” (thank you, GOP–you can run, but you can’t hide!). The bombings in Boston. The failure of an incredibly modest gun-safety bill supported by 90 percent of Americans, killed by a minority of cowards in the Senate. Mostly by Republicans, but there are four Democrats on that list who are no longer worthy of the name. Or of being called honorable, decent, and fit to hold office. What do we do in the face of all this? When the leaders we elect are cowards and fools more beholden to gun-industry profits and the whims of the oligarchs, when individuals with a taste for violence and easy access to homemade explosives can sow mayhem at will, and then the damned weather won’t even ease up? From micro to macro, things once again seem to be going to hell. How do you keep working for change, or hold on to any sense that good can be enacted in the world… that “weeping may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning”?
I would like a little morning. The one without the “u”. And if it hasn’t come just yet, I’d like to at least get a glimpse of it. One small glimmer , enough to remind me that there is a morning to hope for. Work for. Strive for. On this April day, when there’s sleet outside and my flowers are bent under it, is that so much to ask?