To the Misery of Spring

Sitting in the first spring sun, the thawing of a long winter.

Magnified by the out opening windows of the attic, the sun is warm today. 

The first true warmth of the year. 

Every indicator of spring, as if drawn out of a studio at Disney, is there, sickening in its conceit of skepticism or irony. 

It is a day made for earnest pleasure, at odds with my very character. 

I ought be riding my bike, light summer cap, shorts and sunglasses. 

Instead, I think about pouring the last of my winter whisky, feeling as though misery is a better state and wanting it to lay a foundation for the blues. 

Tomorrow perhaps, will be cloudy and gray, and I will feel inspired to sing of sadness and despair.