This morning was not any different than the mornings before in the past few weeks, months. I opened my eyes, turned right to look at the alarm clock
on the bedside table, to see that I beat the bastard again by two minutes before it went off. Then turned to my left and looked at the love of my
life, peacefully sleeping, breathing quietly with that half smile she usually has on her lips while dreaming.
I sneaked out of the bed, like a ninja, super silently and as smoothly as my 44 years old body lets me, and pulled the curtains apart, only for a half
inch, enough to see the outside and to notice that it is getting lighter every day at this early hour.
I didn’t have to wait long until the song came to my mind. Not the full song, only the chorus. It’s usually starts to creep on me around the end
of December, and usually with me all day until the end of March.
Believe me, I want to shout it out I want to sing it with my horrible voice, but I never do before a certain date. Until then I sing it in my head,
sometimes humming it, sometimes whistle but never sing it out loud.
For many people Spring means a lot of things, and admittedly they are right. The cold dark nights are slowly disappearing, giving place to warmth.
Days become longer. Flowers booming, birds chirping, and somehow, in general, life just becomes great, yet again.
I am not so different, only maybe with one thing. The thing Spring means to me. The song from 1908 by Jack Norworth and Albert Von Tilzer. The song
that is on my mind every year, can’t rid of it and to be honest I don’t want to. And again, this year, close to the end of March I will sing it
out loud until my wife will say that’s enough, just as she does every year that time.
Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jack,
I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don't win, it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out, At the old ball game
I Love Spring
edit on 4-2-2019 by szino9 because: spelling