Plum Crazy

The boid is on the wing. Ain't it peculiar? Ain't it absoid? I tought the wing was on the boid.

At any rate, I think it's spring. The calendar says it is. My mental state says it is. The weather? Not so much, but I'm going to ignore that. Besides, it's supposed to be sunny and near 70 over the weekend.

I had a very strange dream over the weekend. Strange, yet hopeful. It starts out in Russia. Why Russia? I don't know, but it's a dream, so why not Russia? I'm there with this Russian man. He's my love. I'm leaving soon to go back to New York, but I know he's going to be joining me there.

Then I'm back, but something's rotten in the city of New York. It's quite post-apocalyptic. Some buildings are in ruins, although most are still standing. There are people still living, but they're scurrying around afraid. And the sky? Ah, there's the rub. The sky is ice. Well, not exactly. The sky is the sky, but there's a very thick layer of ice covering the entire city, blocking out the sun and light.

So where's the hopeful part? I'm getting to it. I'm standing there in shock, looking at the ice. Trying to figure out how the hell that happened. Afraid that if we try to melt the ice, there'll be a flood, drowning all of us. As I stand there, this massive airplane arrives from Russia, flying over the ice. It has this fabulous technology which simply vaporizes the ice in huge chunks, clearing it all away. The pilot of this plane? My Russian love.

The ice is gone. Sun, light, spring, hope has returned to New York City. Spring and hope have returned to me. It's been a very long winter. Over 2 1/2 years long. In fact, maybe even much longer than that. But spring is here at last.