My Beef With Nature

     A good friend of mine once described spring as natures awkward phase. I thought that to be very fitting. It's like a thirteen year old trying on new identities in hopes of eventually settling on one that fits. But unlike a thirteen year old, spring has the world in the palm of its confused little hand. I could have patience with her if she changed by the day. But lately she goes through several identities in the span of fifteen minutes. 

"I'm going for a gothic-depressive meats teachers-pet-dressed-in-her-sunday-best-getting- ready-to-read-to-old-people-before-going-home-to-listen-to-death-metal-and-slice-crosses-into-her-arm-with a-stolen-exacto-knife sort of look." She says.

      To which I reply. "Young lady you are not leaving this house!" Or rather I'm not leaving this house. I know. Of all the reasons one could be a shut-in I choose weather. I can explain: I don't have a raincoat and I don't drive a car. I have a sturdy water-resistant down jacket, but in sixty degrees it's overkill. I would get soaked from the inside by my own sweat. The alternative, which I experienced yesterday while going on a hunt for a raincoat is a sweatshirt. I didn't find what I was looking for and remained a comfortable temperature yet when I got home I was completely soaked. 

     You're probably wondering why someone who was born in the Northwest and has lived in Eugene for over two years (which I refer to as the fluid filled lung of Oregon) doesn't already just have one. I don't know what to tell you. I guess it just never occurred  to me that it might be a worthy investment.

     For what nature lacks in commitment it makes up for in startling beauty. Have you ever seen the black part inside of a tulip? Or the iridescent feathers on a pigeon? Or those monkeys with the colorful faces? For that I can't hold a grudge. I'm going outside.