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Health & Fitness

The Incongruity of Spring

The uneasy opposition of Nature's tick-rocking through the Seasons...

Spring.  A slap in the face.  A five-alarm blaze somewhere in your subconscious.  Pitting disparate objects in a battle of somnolent-shattering vibrancy. 

An hour’s less sleep.  The incongruity of the furnace running while birdsong greets the brilliant sunrise.  The oh-so-slow striptease of Winter shedding its last bits of respectability.  Spring. 

Cloudbursts.  Cold fronts blowing the final limbs of slash out of the trees.  Heaven’s metronome tick-tocking to a steady, inexorable primordial hum…and a-one and a-two and a-three…

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Spring awakens dormant sentiments – wistfulness for the coming blossoms, the smell of damp earth, the thrill of elongating daylight.  March winds, April showers, May flowers.  Long dead Druid celebrations of planting.  Vernal equinox.  He Is Risen.

Chocolate Easter bunnies.  Marshmallow Peeps.  Bonnets.  Church bells.  Time for communion.  A crucifixion.  A New Beginning.

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The season stirs one’s soul.  A reason to ride a bicycle, read a book, take a trip.  Nature’s triple-shot, full-test, St. Patrick’s Macchiato – a caffeinated spell that you just can’t shake off.  Hike Stone Mountain, walk the Highlands, window shop Decatur…get outside…Do IT!!!

Spring cleaning not for the house, but to blow the cobwebs out of your brain.  Fresh air.  Pine pollen.  Bees in your flowerbed.  Birds at your feeder. 

Pushing, cajoling, keeping you up at night.  That’s Spring, too.  A demanding mistress that insists on pruning, planting, tidying, primping…fertilizing…

The bitch Spring, barking about linens not aired out, rugs not beaten, corners not swept.  Open windows revealing the staleness of Winter still lurking just inside the closet door.  A white glove inspection of your constitution for What Comes Next.  Do you pass muster, Buster?

Hold on, though.  I’m feeling a little wan.  Perhaps, for the time being, I’ll call in sick…I feel a bout of Spring Fever coming on that might require reading a thick book…gazing at Stone Mountain Lake…using my full body weight to keep the couch in my front room from hitting the ceiling.  The St. Patrick’s Macchiato is losing its effect…

That slap in the face will come soon enough. 

And when it does, I want to be ready.

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