Pilgrim's Pride

You had me going, weather. I actually thought you were going to step up to my challenge. All the forecasters predicted severe thunderstorms. And you did come up with some pretty severe storms, they just all ducked south of me. I should have known you were too much a coward to take me on. A few little scattered showers here. Pathetic.

If you have to leave, going out like a lion is the only way to go. The whole idea of making peace with the world is a load of crap. Do not go gently into that good night. You’ve got to give em hell while you can, fighting to your last breath. To give up is to say it was never worth fighting for. So if you’re going to bother entering in the first place, make the effort and go out like a lion.

So even though tonight’s thunderstorm is a couple of days late, it’s better late than never. This storm is for you, March. You were a good month, full of corned beef and college basketball. So blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! Rage! Blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout till you have drenched our steeples, drowned the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man! After all, April showers bring May flowers.