Wild Weekend

Meaning the weather, of coure, which didn't leave much room for any other kind of wild behavior. Once again, the streets of Town overflowed and a lake formed in the middle of US 1, the major highway connecting Maine to Florida. Only this weekend it was the lowway.

As opposed to the last time this happened, a mere six weeks ago, the cops were right on top of the situation. You can still see streamers of yellow police tape all over town where they moved quickly to shut off low-lying roads. But oddly enough, despite a high tidal surge and record rainfall, things were not as bad as during the Nor'easter of Devember 1992, when whole neighborhoods turned into lakes and Island Beach lost its pier and bathhouse.

Today the sun is trying to peek out, and the roads are clear again, if still muddy from their immersion. The forsythia is starting to come out, the daffodils are appearing along North Street, and all in all, your scribe is confident that we shall soon have a day or two of spring. After which, of course (this being New England), we will probably jump straight into summer-type weather and put away our woolies and long johns until the fall. Carpe fontem, dear reader: seize the spring while it may be found, for it will likely be late and brief. Like Ronsard's well-known rose, it may not last more than a day.

"...O vraiment maratre nature,

Puisqu'une telle fleur ne dure

Que du matin jusques au soir."