Until last night, I had always thought of Spring as a promissory note. You know – birds chirping, flowers blooming and sex in the forest. Our just rewards to melt away the grit of winter.
Not in Minnesota. Up here, Spring is brutish and short, ushered in on the wail of the tornado sirens sounding the “take cover” under green skies. I take scant comfort in the knowledge that you can expect to see a bad-ass EF-2 or stronger at your door every 6,369 years, according to weatherman Paul Douglas.
A mere eight days ago, it snowed. Locals say that's nothing. It snowed every month for the last eight months.
But yesterday, the temperature hovered around 90 and the winds could not withstand the temptation. Boom. Three different tornado alerts.
Reminds me of West Texas.
Without the dust. Or the tumbleweeds.
Or the forests, come to think of it.