The ice of winter on the bay a distant memory, the brown grass of winter surging with the chlorophyll of renewal, the trees knobby with buds ready to burst, it might just be spring in Babel. It’s a rich time of year. It is a harbinger of summer with the first boats assaying the waves of the bay. One day soon, at some magic time for the fishermen amongst us, they will also be out there, hunkered over against the chill of spring.
Mind you, I have absolutely no wish to rhapsodize about fishing. It is not a sport—unless you consider those who ward off pneumonia to be the winners. It is not like golf, where at least you get a good walk in—while stopping occasionally to hit a poor miserable little ball that never did anything to you. The Blue Jays have returned to the concrete convertible with their usual false promises of renewed glory. I prefer beach volleyball—the one where smooth muscled young ladies in skimpy bikinis strut their stuff.
Spring in Canada is a time of renewal. It is the promise of verdant crops and fecund cows dropping their calves. It is a time of political renewal also. In an effort to create order, the Ontario government has declared this an election year for municipalities. The long and tortuous battle for the Stanley Cup has commenced. Road construction season is confounding drivers anew. Life goes on.
The Babel Liberals have a candidate ready to joust with the pathetic MP Brown. The Liberal candidate is smart, knows where he wants to go and is a paraplegic. It will be a fair fight.
In an act of bravado, the snow tires came off the family car the other day. The sun continues to shine. Welcome spring. Go out and smell the spring flowers.
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