(. . . a brief and spontaneous post to keep NQR alive; rendered in apology for and acknowledgment of the term papers that still mire me in their convoluted and painful production.)
While it takes a rather heartless observer of the world to have very much at all negative to say about spring (other than incessant gloomy, rainy weather, mud in all its various forms, the effects of pollen on one’s allergic rhinitis, etc. etc.) one specific complaint must be aired here.
A love bird has decided to perch, every morning at 4:10AM, in the branch of a tree adjoining my second story bedroom window. The bird emits a lovely, syncopated warble, mellifluous, the perfect harbinger of the forthcoming rising of the sun. But this occurs far, far too early in the morning and far, far too regularly. One would like to open one’s bedroom windows on a cool spring evening, to fall asleep to distant thunder and the gentle patter of nighttime rain. But one does not like to wake at 4:10AM thereafter. One does not.
I’m sure the bird is lovely.
I’m absolutely convinced that this time of year the impulse to sing sweetly from the top branches of my tree cannot be mastered in his heaving little breast.
I’m sure my early-morning curses and ill-wishes for the creature’s courtship are ogre-ish to the extreme.
But this bird is NQR, the very definition.