STORM TROOPERS

STORM TROOPERS

Winter, like soldiers in a scattered war, does not know that General Spring has won. Missed the vanguard of robins calling fresh signals in the yard, failed to see the partisan squirrels unpacking their hoarded resources from their hiding place, and a pervasive sense of well-being, as sunlight, like a regimental marching band, comes streaming.

Winter sings it’s entrenched imperial song, hides in clusters in the broken grass, and in the shadows of skinny trees, when fresh breezes pass. Winter cannot believe that wider, and more welcome forces could relieve it of its weapons, and wish it to surrender to softer prospects, and a post-war world more tender.

So the news has come, and weary townsmen hunker down for one more blast of distant winds, and one more darkening of leaden skies, before the rain and sleet descend to fill our war torn eyes. A storm is once more in the offing. Can’t they hear the enemy brass scoffing from their prison cell? War is Hell, but even Hell must have a sweeter side, when April turns the calendar, and time, in passing, finally turns the tide.

G.M.S.