In High Dudgeon

There she goes again. In her usual
spirit of impish mischief Spring has
delighted in spreading the rumour
that Winter has packed his baggage
of wind and ice and snowy blasts
preparing to depart the scene in the
high dudgeon of a seasoned thespian
affronted by his captive audience's
lack of acclaim for his extraordinary
efforts to stage ever greater dramas.

The more strenuous Winter's efforts
become, the louder the irritating
groans emitted from the audience
until Winter avows he will no longer
serve up those extreme delights of
relentless gales and icy fogs,
bracing cold and immensely awesome
blizzards of unending snowfalls. Off
he stamps in a tantrum of gross
proportions astride the North Wind.

Conniving Spring offers her sincere
condolences to her seasonal sibling
the while covertly prodding the
audience to disown Winter and
exuberantly cheer on Spring, her
gentle, cleansing rains and verdant
grasses under the blessed sun urging
flowers to rise again in the exquisite
triumph of resurrection from slumber.

The triumph of freshness, colour
and gorgeous texture over the monotony
of single-toned winter. As grumpy
Winter bids his final farewell, Spring
treats her besotted, captivated audience
with a randomly unusual hailstorm
relentlessly assailing trusting spring
blooms, covering the landscape in a
transparent glitter of ice, silencing
the welcome of returning birdsong.