Saturday, March 7, 2009

Sprung Spring.

It's not over. We'll get another cool snap or two. Maybe a cold one. But a wee white butterfly is out on my front walk moving from pansy to pansy. It's in the sixties and we're nowhere near noon. As soon as I finish this cup of coffee I'm saddling the dog up and the two of us are pickuping out east to the Guilford County Prison Farm to buy us some Adirondack chairs for a very fair price. I called over there. They're open. The sheriff's deputy I got on the phone sounded like it was spring on his end of the line, too. Sounded like he could maybe do with a half-hour or so where he could sit in a chair and set his sheriff's deputy hat on the table beside him, big old tall sweating glass of ice water next to that. That is what he sounded like.

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