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I like the concept of seasons.  I truly enjoy the changes in the weather as the year progresses.  I like watching the budding of the trees in the spring, the leaves blowing in the summer winds, the explosion of color in the fall, and the skeletal starkness of winter forests.  There is beauty in every one.

And, as I have said in the past, I moved around a bit as a kid.  By the time I had graduated from high school I had lived in five different states and that number is now seven.  It is truly amazing just how different those seasonal changes are when you move to different areas of the country that, when taken as part of the globe, are relatively close to one another.  I think it is this experience which has taught me an appreciation of nature’s yearly ballet. 

But, while I enjoy the changing of the seasons, I think I would prefer the seasons to be like an old friend just back in town for a few months.  They come in, we sit down at the bar, have a few beers and swap stories of the old days.  Their visit will be a pleasant one full remembering old times and making new memories.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t seem to be the way it works lately.  This winter (and even a few of the recent summers) have been less like an old friend coming to visit and more like a rabid ape tearing through and laying waste to everything in its path.  But this is no normal ape, not by a long shot.  After he crashes through like a dervish of nature’s retaliation he stops, looks back on the chaos he has created, and laughs his furry ass off as we struggle to cope with the consequences.

I hate that ape.


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