The Hazards of Spring

I do love Spring. I was born at this time of year, and it seems to me that the very brilliant shades of green along with the vibrant colors of blooming flowers and trees against a bright North Carolina blue sky filled with big puffy clouds, fills me with a need to take a deep, deep breath.
If only I could breathe.
I’m an allergy sufferer. So when the weather warms, I feel a twinge of dread at the coming bout of sneezing, coughing and itchy watery eyes.
Green pollen coats every surface of every vehicle and building. The giant leaning oak tree in the front yard drops green tendrils that resemble hairy green caterpillars, which, during a good deluge, turn into a sludgy, foamy gunk that coats the brilliant white sides of our house.
Not to mention the drifts of Bradford Pear Tree petals, which like confetti, clog the sidewalks and streets, coating shoes with little white dots.
Sitting on the porch, the other night, I tried very hard to focus on my wife as she recounted her day, while some small, hard buzzing creature zipped wildly around in circles by the bright porch light, occasionally zipping by my face, or bashing into me.
And speaking of bugs, I narrowly missed being stung in the eye the other day, when a tiny bee flew right up and perched on the inside lense of my sunglasses.
I am also painfully aware that with the advent of warmer, wetter weather comes the need to pay attention to the length of our grass. It's invariable, especially with lots of storms and lots of sunny, warm days, my grass will invariably grow a foot in forty-eight hours. So, trying to get a head start on this trend, I pulled out the mower and worked on the lawn.
The back, which now has one less mowing surface since we’ve tilled it and prepped it for a garden, is less visible, and so I worked on the front first.
Finishing, and feeling motivated, I went for my four-stroke, heavy-duty weed whacker to tame the fringes. As I edged the dog lot, hiding beneath an over grown clump of grassy weeds was a goopy pile of not so fresh, albeit mushy wet doggy ‘doo’.
At something like a million rpms I hit the pile, and it was instantly sprayed right up the front of me.
Well, coated in a fine, stinky drizzle, I shut off my weed whacker, went in, stripped off the soiled clothes, and gagged and nearly sobbed as I headed for the showers.
Completely removed of my previous motivation, I shambled about the house the rest of the day, looking for indoor activities and chores, and praying for strength to overcome this Season of Terror- er, I mean, Spring.