When the groundhogs return to Capistrano

At last! Spring in Central Pennsylvania seems to be on the verge of paying us a visit, putting up its feet for a spell, and asking for a diet IBC root beer and some Cheetohs. How do I know this? Let me count the ways for you . . .

• Constant TV news reports of imminent, heavy snowfall are grossly exaggerated.
• Constant TV news reports of imminent, heavy rainfall are right on the mark.
• There's light in the sky when I leave for work in the morning and when I leave for home in the evening.
• I sneeze repeatedly but don't fear a bout with the flu, just one with the ecosystem.
• I throw caution to the wind and don't layer a damn thing.
• I put away my shovel, my Melt-Away, my boots, my hat, and my kitty litter.
• I fantasize about rekindling long-lost loves, who I haven't seen since before the climatic chill set in last October.
• There are more geese per capita than people.
• There is more goose crap per capita than people crap.

And my favorite sign that spring is on its way . . .

• The groundhogs surface from their burrows to play, explore, and feed along our highways and byways.

Coincidentally, the number of traffic incidents involving groundhogs playing, exploring, and feeding along our highways and byways sees a sharp increase. Imagine that.

Oh well. It's always something. North Carolina has its poorly placed possums; Texas, its awkwardly oriented armadillos; and Pennsylvania, its grievously ill-timed groundhogs (or, if you prefer, its weepingly woebegone woodchucks and its wantonly wasted whistlepigs).

I always think if people were serious about animal rights in this country, they would have banned cars as soon as the first deer got caught in the headlights of someone's Model A. But, let's get real--we can't even get people interested enough in mass transit to give up their cars, something in their own best interest in terms of time, safety, savings, community, environment, and peace of mind. What's a little roadkill among friends and neighbors?

So why did the groundhog cross the road? Probably to get to the groundhog on the other side, four lanes and a median strip away. Birds do it, bees do it, even educated academics do it, so why not groundhogs?

And why not me? Aye, yes, there's the rub. Now if only someone would rub *me.*

The advent of spring does make my fancy turn to young men--as well as middle-aged men and older men (I never said I was picky). But spring also makes me think about calling in sick ("It's my *cough cough* allergies") so I can go hiking along the Appalachian Trail, to which there is an entrance near where I live.

About darn time, too. I feel as though I haven't been out of the house since one especially warm weekday in Philadelphia last November. And "Filthadelphia," despite its soiled charms and grimy riches, doesn't really qualify as the great outdoors in either the "great" or the "outdoors" sense.

So, while it lasts, let's embrace the sunshine with open arms. Let's kiss the blue skies with parted lips and moist tongue. Let's even fondle the flowers and foliage while no one's looking. My dear snowbound, snowblind friends, welcome back to warm weather and the world beyond our doorsteps and windowsills. In the months ahead, may our days be free of downpours, may our throats be free of phlegm, and may our undercarriages be free of Punxsutawney Phil and his pals.

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Thanks to the Wikipedia for this public domain image.