Monday, April 25, 2011

The Conspiracy of Spring

The very top of the eucalyptus in the back yard thrashes back and forth.

The coconut wind chimes on the front porch sound like a bongo player on cocaine.

The pollen from the blooming walnut trees and weeds, citrus bloom and snowy white locust blossoms swirls madly, filling every ounce of air with sinus-abrading particles.

The slight crack in the window makes an eerie howling sound, and in counterpoint, the branches of the trees make crashing sounds like a demented surf.

I went to the grocery store today. It was my only trip outside.  From the house to the car, from the car to the store, from the store to the car, from the car to the house. Presto! Swollen sinuses, post-nasal drip, racking cough. How I hate the wind. Isn't that what Marvin the Robot sang in Douglas Adams' Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe?

No wonder I identify with him so much.

Why does Spring want me to stay indoors?

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