Creek Thoughts
Deceived by the warmth of Foolâs Spring, I broke my own superstitious rule and banished the snow shovel to the shadows of the gable shed before winterâs end.
I soon mournfully discovered that the radiant sunâs thawing of the tidal pond offered only false hope.
For weeks, I had grown weary of the shovelâs menacing presence on the sun deck.
Its ergonomic steel handle and generous polyethylene blade mocked my naivety as I remorsefully woke it from its false slumber.
This momentary lapse in judgment has brought this storm upon the Mid-Atlantic coast.
