"Mariah blows the stars around and sends the clouds a-flying, Mariah makes the mountain sound like folks were up there dying.
Marrriahhhhhhh...they call the wind Mariah."
That thieving, blowhard bitch Mariah is trying to rob Ms Autumn's burgeoning coat of many colors. Boy, if I could land a punch I'd put her in the grave...where the sun don't shine and the wind don't blow no mo'.
A guy waits and waits and waits some fifty weeks for Ms Autumn's fleeting, splendorous surge of glory, and look what happens. We are thirty six hours and counting—only about halfway, if one is to believe the weather-guessers—through a, mood altering, God forbidding, life sucking, mother f&$#*@g, leaf stripping wind storm. Not since the great dustbowl days has Mariah been so "Evil, Wicked, Mean and Nasty."
Yesterday Mariah reduced the Hot Springs Pool to tepid bathwater unfit for soaking. It was a waste of precious time and money, a less than fulfilling couldn't-break-a-sweat experience and about as much fun as kissing your sister. My only hope lies in the fact that Ms Autumn's arrival was rain-delayed...having only just begun to light our candles of Aspen with her magic torch. With the preponderance of work yet to be done, I'm praying for all those green leaves to tie a knot and hang in there...to weather this blow job...and I would appreciate it if you'd do the same.
Insult to injury; as the house shudders, trees bang the deck rail, and small dogs sail like kites at the ends of leashes, I'm informed that it's time go go for our daily walk! Well that should cheer me up (gurrrrr).
But, on the other hand, Tuesday was a ruby, a fine gem-of-a-day for hiking with friends...to cast eyes on recent snows above timberline and revisit Ice Lake's sky blue waters; kinda makes me want a Hamms. Never been to Ice Lake draped in a shawl of snow.
Speaking of "shawl," Glenn, of "To Simplify" fame, has taken up the mantle of hiking (gasp). Better late than never. Being slim and young(er), Glenn was able to go from a sea level non aerobic lifestyle to Fit for Fourteeners in the month since we last saw him—you know, when he begged off our hiking invitations due to shortness of breath and the false rumor that we enjoy dragging unsuspecting tourists to the edge of their deathbeds.
Marathon Man Leonard joined in, as well as our high altitude friends Martha and Tim. They live at 10,000 feet, where even a bowel movement counts as aerobic activity. I know that is disgusting, but I'm in a foul mood!
Off we went into the wild blue yonder...and you get to come along without so much as raising your pulse...
|Pal Boonie, this postcard's for you!|
Stay tuned for part two...
Now go take a hike...