The Battle of the Elders

The tree in my backyard has buds! This is exciting news. This picture would be even better had the sun been out, like yesterday.

Yesterday morning I blearily walked a diaper out to the garbage can and was exhilarated by the feel of spring in the air. The light breeze was crisp, yet alive. And it smelled good. It woke me right up, usually something that eludes me until a good long shower.

In the early afternoon the thermometer on the bank sign said 71 degrees. Now, I've learned through hard experience to never trust those fickle (and often very wrong) bank signs. But this sounded nice, so I decided to believe it.

And, in celebration, I cleaned out my flower beds. I cut down all the dead flowers that yes, I should have cut down last fall. I even pulled a few weeds (who knew I'd get so excited about the season's first weeds?). I have grand plans for actually planting flowers this year.

The only thing that marred this was the brazen box elder bug I found sunning himself. On my t-shirt. The nerve. [Back story: Last year my yard was teeming with red-and-black-bugginess. I usually don't like to kill bugs, but last year I took great pleasure in summarily stomping on any that I found--I especially liked killing the mating pairs (who did their business hedonistically on my front porch), because I not only killed two bugs at once, but also untold future generations.]

I rounded out my glorious spring day by going for a run at the park. I can't run outside when it's cold; it makes me cough. It was invigorating. I did not cough. Today I am sore.

Isn't it wonderful to be alive? Unless you're a box elder bug, of course. Your days are numbered.