Ou sont les neiges?

Here is the last of this winter’s snow in my backyard.

2015-04-11 14.17.35

It’s likely to disappear this afternoon.  I will not miss it.

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Spring, the sweet spring

Here’s what Thomas Nashe has to say about spring:

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year’s pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!

The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!

 Presumably he wasn’t looking out my front door when he wrote the poem:
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Here’s a view of spring from my son in the north of Jordan today.  Maybe this is what Nashe was thinking of:
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The weather is bound to get better.  Isn’t it?