It’s March, and the year doesn’t know what to do with itself. Little ice hard snowdrifts are desperately trying to hang on to winter, but the tree buds are popping loose all over.  Birds are singin’ spring in (at least on the warm days). I’m ready for spring, yes indeed.

Except for the mud.

Not the good, honest mud from a summer rain, the kind of mud that makes you take your shoes off and run through the puddles. The good squishy-between-the-toes mud. The let’s throw rocks in the water puddle mud.

Nope, I’m talking the mud that shows up because everything melted and the ground is still frozen. The kind of mud that fools you into parking the truck on the grass, and when you need to leave, the tires just spin. (Come on, the truck is parked on flat ground!)

This is the kind of mud that follows you out to the road and then down the road a ways, leaving a thin smear that will try to upset any two wheel vehicle. The mud that laughs at you when you wash the truck. Actually, it should laugh at you for washing the truck.  A clean truck lacks character, unless you’re going to church or picking up your girl for a night out.

I guess I’ll have to wait a couple weeks. The mud should firm up, and I’ll have to find something else to grumble about.

Squishing through the mud for the Good and True,

Billy Acre