And yet, spring... It approaches... I would dare not admit it, but I have received the sacred promise...
The Three Stinky Harbingers of Spring have arrived.
What? You are unfamiliar with this prophecy? Let me tell it for you.
The first shall come as a ghost of a stench... acrid, still coasting on the currents of flurried snow. The second shall be strong, and its carcass shall be seen in black and white and red all over. The third shall be true in the rain, its awful bouquet bringing tears with spring rains. Thus shall three roadkill skunks trumpet the arrival of warmth unto the world.
And I have smelled them. Though snow may ride its way into town tonight, it will be chased out shortly by the overpowering cloud of rancid that hovers for miles around the body of a skunk taken down by a Peterbilt.
The sad part, these skunks have only just emerged from their slumber to eat and fornicate. They didn't know that they were part of a grander destiny. They merely wanted a Bacchanalian celebration to end their winter slumber. Maybe a Chipotle burrito and a foam party or two. Instead, they become part of an annual crime scene that even David Caruso wouldn't take off his shades for.
Welcome, Spring. And a toast to my fallen skunk-homies. The midwest thanks you for your sacrifice.
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1 comment:
Wow, I never realized that after all of these years that those little stink bags were profits of spring. Now I can see why the Quakers (or folks like them) decided to use groundhogs for spring prognostication. I always figured that spring was coming when the sun rose before 7am, you didn't have to scrape the windshield, and when it rained it didn't feel like the drops froze directly to your skin. Silly silly me.
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