Fuck it. I’m wearing a Hawaiian shirt.
I’m officially sick of winter. Last night it rained and was beautiful. It’s been 3 degrees here or some shit, so warmth was nice. Listening to rain fall was nice. I sniffed the air, but did not detect Spring, which saddened me.
You can smell Spring, you know, underneath all the other scents. I pick it up in early February some years and it is both wonderful and terrible—wonderful because it’s there, an undercurrent of potential, terrible because it’s still a ways away. Usually I get it after rain falls in the night or when the snow begins to melt in earnest. The earth is stimulated by it or something and sends it forth to me.
I have a very sensitive nose. Ask anyone who knows me. If someone farts in the next house, I will know. Sure as shit.
I love winter, but it is too long, so today I am wearing a very loud, very colorful Hawaiian shirt. I have also shaved and am bald and bare-faced. My head feels five pounds lighter. If it wasn’t windy right now, I’d go for a walk. I dislike walking in the wind.
I want to walk, though. I want to load my pipe and walk leisurely around the neighborhood and listen to lawn mowers and dogs barking and birds singing and kids playing. I don’t want to hear the howl.
“In the sunshine, don’t you know, you can do whatever you want,” as my boy so aptly sings.
