Rites of Spring - and a Mystery

Today, as the afternoon warmed, I felt a distinct change in the day. Low and behold, it’s the first day of spring. You remember how in a previous blog, It Might As Well Be Spring, posted on November 27, I abolished winter and summer, so it is indeed spring and even the red maples are showing signs of color in last year’s new branches and buds. I checked and the astronomers and climatologists confirmed the good news.

As promised in that earlier blog, at the appointed hour, I went into my garden and cavorted naked as called for in the primitive rites of spring. It was glorious feeling. The sun will return. There is hope for us.

A few minutes after returning to the house, I heard sirens. Apparently there were calls for ambulances to the neighborhood. It is sad that on such a joyous day not all are as healthy and happy as their aged neighbor, Wild Bill.

Shortly thereafter, another neighbor told me that the two young housewives, both barely of retirement age, who live in the properties flanking mine had collapsed nearly simultaneously for reasons unknown. They were taken to the hospital, treated and, thank goodness, released.

The mystery continued when the local Homeland Security people came by and asked nearby residents, including me, if we’d seen or heard anything unusual or blood curdling. Naturally, I was disappointed at not being to help but told them I was in my garden at about that time and observed and heard nothing out of the ordinary.

The young women were so traumatized by whatever they’d seen or heard that neither of them could recall anything about what had caused their anguish and physical collapse.

In any event, all’s well that ends well. It’s spring and they’ll be fine. Tomorrow, I’ll drop in on them with chicken soup. I’m certain that they’ll be pleased to see me; they always are.

Blog on!

Wild Bill