Topic: "Ides of March Again" (4)
Fifteen years ago this very minute, Frodo and Lovey were trapped at Lake Lovey amidst two-and-one-half feet of snow, and more than 400 downed yellow pine trees. Last night, a tornado veered away from the trailer parks of Arkansas and Alabama long enough to strike the very heart of Atlanta. Frodo longs for someone to someday interview him after a tornado, for he will tell the audience that it sounded like lift-off at Cape Canaveral, anything but a damned freight train. The forecast for the next several hours calls for a continuation of the violent line of thunderstorms which accompany the wet season in the lands adjacent to the Shire. Tree limbs and power lines will not co-exist, so it is probably a good idea for Frodo to say what Frodo has to say, and to get off-line.
When Cassius called to the conspirators, "Strike hands for me," the stage was first set for the middle of March and the violence it represents in western societies. Each year, at this time, Frodo laments the natural disasters which accompany the drenching precipitation, and the human reaction. Bad things seem to happen, and few victories are noted. Last night, Frodo's beloved Yellow Jacket basketball team also fell to the representatives of gang violence and shoddy prosecutorial performance from Durham, North Carolina. Baseball is more than a month from the friendly confines of Turner Field. And even the Pennsylvania Primary is five weeks from now.
When all of Frodo's technological toys lose their utility, he is also confronted with an inability to even do work, and on a Saturday no less. With the imminent meterological threat, starting an excursion with Mick, the Wonder Dog, is equally foolhardy. The choices at his disposal are limited.
The Bartletts, the forsythia, the camellias, and the fruit trees which flower but do not bear are all abloom. Soon their gentle petals will be on the ground, and the warming days to come will not be quite as brilliant as they might have been.
Sigh. Did Frodo mention that March sucks?