Seasons Change (or skipped)

Seasons Change (or skipped)

It first appeared in the NY Times' Metropolitan Diary [1] in 1984.  May 2, 1984, to be exact.  Upon reading it (back when the  hard copy was the only way to read the Times, which was delivered to my apartment door each morning) this small quatrain at the end of the column made a permanent impression on me.  I've been quoting it ever since that first reading.  Year after year it retains its memorable value and seems even more appropriate. 

It was more than the perfect poetic simplicity and rhyme.  What got me was the succinct yet somehow fittingly festive yet wistful Springtime sentiment it  expressed.

The lines were attributed to Dwight Weist [2], most likely the same fellow known as the Man of 1,000 Voices.  If you've seen a movie using newsreel footage, you've probably heard Weist's voice.  And if ever there would have been a likely contributor to Metropolitan Diary [3], it was Weist.

It happens each year.  Winter: the days are cold and icky, there's snow.  There comes a few late nice March days, giving that tease of Spring.  Then --kaboom!-- the cold returns.  Or other weather oddities.  This year it seemed Spring weather would never arrive.  There was some sort of apparent Divine Intervention when the Pope showed up, but that was short-lived.  Then the return of post-Winter-slow-dregs weather returned with dank, cool, days, punctuated by significant rain and an early arrival of the itchy eyes & nose Hayfever season,  According to the weathercasters on Radio and TV it was worse than ever due to the high levels of precipitation throughout the Winter months.

And now with June upon us, we have heat, humidity, and wonder where Spring went. 

As per Weist, it's a bummer.  First it's Winter.  Then it's Summer.