when the world is mud-luscious


In Just-

  spring   when the world is mud-

  luscious the little

  lame balloonman


  whistles   far   and wee


  and eddieandbill come

  running from marbles and

  piracies and it’s



  when the world is puddle-wonderful


  the queer

  old balloonman whistles

  far   and   wee

  and bettyandisbel come dancing


  from hop-scotch and jump-rope and









  balloonMan   whistles





 — ee cummings


It’s not spring.
Far from it. Far.
But it was a very ee cummings kind of a day — lovely, crazy, zany to have 65 degree weather in the not-quite-middle of a Chicago February. Where was the snow? The driving sleet and hail? The icestorms? They seemed like a dream we’d all awoken from this morning as the Nature smiled and we all smiled, too. And walked to school and work. We laughed and chased around pretending to be kites in the stiff breezes. We ogled and explored the enormous mudbanks and slush piles and all the debris the melting snow revealed.
It truly felt like spring, or perhaps it was only spring’s cousin, hope. 


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