Listen, you can feel it. A chorus of birdsongs, right on cue, announcing sunrise. The birds say it’s time to celebrate. A persistent din that says, hey, wake up! Put out that suet and seed. We’re hungry. It’s been a long dismal winter. Rejoice. We’re singing this song for you. The jubilant ruckus of dawn unfolds, anew. Soak in the warmth, breathe cool, sweet air, the earth tingles. The sky opens up, a brilliant light of day, the bright orange sunrise peeks just above the horizon coloring the night. A gaggle of geese floats by, honking, flying overhead in perfect V formation. Hear the rooster crow. They think they rule, but you can join in the fray. Do you hear the woodpecker knocking? Listen to the mockingbird.
A skunk scurries under the old red shed. Horses gallop through pastures, cows bellow, it’s milking time again. Two rabbits play in dewy grass. The landscape vibrates, harmonious rhythms come back to life from under the blanket of earth’s winter slumber. Tree buds pop, flowers bloom, insects buzz around your head. For a bright moment, all is right with the world. No need for blaring sirens, horns beeping, or bombs exploding. The city of noise.
At times like this it’s good to remember you’re still alive. A vital part in the mix of nature’s glory. Give birth to yourself. Enjoy the day, a brief gift, just for you. An affirmation that yells, I’m alive! I’m still breathing! Part of the grand scheme, let go of petty affairs. A trick in the tics of time, it’s all in the mind. It’s so easy to do. No need to think about it twice. Burn down clock time, throw away your watch.
Damn! Feel that electric hum? That’s the authentic you, the one so easily forgotten, caught in the everyday commotion. It can happen, whether you know it or not, with or without you. May as well grab a big chunk of life. Get with it. It’s the reason for the rhyme in the riddle of the question’s resounding answer. Why not? You’re here. That’s enough. Why fight it? Soak it up! There’s a party going on, just for you. Don’t be a fuddy-duddy. Don’t be a bummer.
Dance if you want, scream out your lungs! Let it embrace you. Make it happen. The gods of good fortune smile down upon you. It’s golden time. Another chance, a shot at redemption. It’s the classless comedy of Mother Nature’s schedule. Exquisite timing for the pageant of seasonal satire. Dig in! Come on, get happy.
I think of Curly, in The Three Stooges episode Micro-Phonies. Curly, the big dummy, dressed in mock drag, lip-synchs the opera lyrics to the recording, “Voices of Spring,” written in 1882, by the stuffy composer, Johann Strauss. The high notes are painful to hear. It goes up and down the music scale like a yo-yo. Before I die, I’ll see Curly Howard in drag, singing that bit. I can’t explain why, but on a purely comedic level, it’s a fitting way to go out. That’s how much I love spring, and The Three Stooges’ hilarious horseplay.
Slapstick schtick, as youth springs eternal with the past, if only for a few seconds of laughter, the happiness of that scene, an epiphany of laughter to joyful tears. “The Voices of Spring” was so funny, they used it in other episodes too. Never retire a good routine. I’m no opera lover, so it’s easy poking fun at the privileged society, which the Stooges did so eloquently. Curly, the big lunkhead, mimicking an opera diva, suits my spring fever just fine.
The Three Stooges and glorious spring fit together in my little world. It’s the tragicomedy of life. Shemp had his moments of brilliance. I loved his dopey mug. Some called Shemp the ugliest man in Hollywood. That was cruel. Larry Fine was no looker either. The ringleader, Moe Howard, head Stooge of that vaudevillian mayhem, makes it all come together. They possess something hard to describe. The idyllic idiocy of innocence wrapped inside seasonal rebirth, and a prop hammer to your head. Bam! Little cartoon birds circling your head. Tweet, tweet! What could be better? Boink!