Now haven't the last few days been fine? Sunshine and 70s in February--who'd ever thunk it? Makes us all restless here in the Pdog town, ready to get out amongst 'em, even though there's not much sprouted for grazing. Best to lay abed 'til the grass grows, don't you know, but it's a sight hard to hibernate with the ground warming.
Last few weeks, now, they was just right--lots of snow cover, dark skies--just the kind of winter blanket ol' Ma Nature puts on right fine. Great weather for winter dreams. Now you two-legged critters, I never could figure you. Fightin' the snow, scrapin' it down to ice and then slip-sliding all over to get where you just gots to go.
Don't you know? Winter is for dreamin', deep down under cover in Ma Nature's arms. Bodies quiet and content on last year's supper, down deep away from Pa Winter's temper, the stab of ice, slash of wind. Deep, down deep, where the earth lies still and quiet, and only the temblor comes knocking to remind us that nothing stays perm'nent like--not even deep deep down.
But it's coming. Spring. I feel it in my fur. The tulips are racin' the daffy dillys, I swear, and you know they's all going to get nipped--always do. That old roarin' Polar Express has laid down perm'nent tracks in this here prairie country and pays us visits pert regular, but it's got no station house here--don't stay. Just passes on through. So, we got us some cold spells still to come--still winter, don't you know--but spring is raring to go. The birds know. Even those daffy dillys know. I know.
Seedtime and harvest are a'comin', sure as this ol' blue ball keeps turnin'. Don't you fret none 'bout that dern ol' Polar Express. This here station's just a stop on the line, and the station master's puttin' up new curtains that shore look like spring.