No, this isn’t about the first day of spring, except in the way it was colder and wetter than hoped for, and felt bleaker since I was expecting warmer.  It’s rather about the way a cold front, when it comes in, needs to move through before it clears.  The argument I wrote about yesterday was not, despite what the poem seemed to indicate, solved at once.  Today I felt bleak and bleary, and grouchy.  But I took a bike ride in the late afternoon, for fresh air and to find a poem.  I liked the poem I found – the rhythm appropriately pugnacious.  And the ride and the poem revived me.  

A riddle: why not settle into grouchiness

growl, baleful, at the fickle sky and shake your fist

succumb to world’s weight drag down into slouchiness

call it one of those days that – face it – won’t be missed?

Indeed, it seems the path of least resistance

Why summon up the needed grim persistence?

When has the sun come out through sheer insistence?

To find success would seem to need a sixth sense

But maybe if you wait a bit you’ll find one

Surprising uplift can come up behind one

and tickle evil feelings till they’re undone

and dissipate like fog banks in the bright sun

The answer: sure, be grouchy if you must

The light will still come reignite your trust.