We’re still clutched in winter’s half-light. Despite the execution upon our clocks of the thing called Daylight Savings Time, the seduction of air struck by sun hasn’t made it round.  It’s March 20 and snowing.  Like the shuffle of one nondescript town after another on a forced trip across Kansas*, the sight is unwelcome as family showing up unannounced.

Only yesterday was I prepared to write how the initial blush of spring’s color had begun altering the silver whisper of winter.  Those dogwood blooms, the forsythia bush’s siren of bright yellow, the “tulip” trees’ delicate drooping pendulums were enough to float cliché to the top of my vocabulary.  My fingers were suspended over the keys that would have delivered “amber light” to this post.

Kyrgyzstan Boy, Western Border of Xinjiang Province

Instead, this email showed up in my inbox (fortunately the anti-critter software called it out as Spam):

“My name is rebecca, i am loving young girl,i will also like to know you better, i want you to send an email to me so that i can send you my picture for you to know whom i am.Here is my email address ([email protected])I am waiting for your mail . Remember the distance or colour does not matter but love matters alot in life.
Yours Love

Dear Rebecca, you obviously do not know we’re still in the vise grip doldrums of half-light.  Bug off.

* To SRT readers in Kansas, you know I love road trips in Kansas, believe Kansas should be the proving ground for all those desirous of calling themselves travelers, but I had to make my visual point and Kansas offered the best example. At the hands of a writer, everyone occasionally suffers.  Notice I made no explanation or caveat to my family.

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