I have a case. A bad case of the spring fever. It might be terminal. Seriously. Spring has me totally in its grip. It’s like this every year. If you don’t think so, just read my blog months March 2008 and March 2009. I get it baaaaad.

I want to swing in the park, maybe through the trees like Tarzan.

I want to slide down the slide, the doomsday one.

I want to splash through the puddles, with or without rubber boots.

And cruise, baby, cruise!

When I’m not doing that, I want to sit at an outdoor cafe in my oh so hot sunglasses and drink alcohol-infused calories.

I want to stroll in a flirty skirt, which might have to wait until June in northern girl country. Who knows what Mama Weather has on her fickle brain. That could be tomorrow or August.

I want to raise Cain and maybe some eyebrows.

I’m in a mood.

A spring fever kind of mood.

The first day of spring was once the time for taking the young virgins into the fields, there in dalliance to set an example in fertility for nature to follow. Now we just set the clocks an hour ahead and change the oil in the crankcase.

~E.B. White, “Hot Weather,” One Man’s Meat, 1944

Elen