A TIME IN BETWEEN

March 26, 2003

Once upon a time a fellow died and found himself standing in line, his soul to be judged for eternity. As the line moved along, he noticed that some souls passed through the pearly gates, and some others were passed to the devil who promptly hurled them down into the fires of hell. Some souls though, the devil would put aside in a small pile.

This fellow, having been a curious soul all his life, walked over to the devil and asked why he has cast some souls aside. The devil replied with some disgust and disdain, "Oh... they are from western New York. They are still too cold and wet to burn."

Dark humor goes with the dark season that is spent beneath our gray canopy of Great Lakes moisture. Winter clouds tend to be flat, occurring in layers which are fairly featureless unless they are somehow cast in an interesting contrast with the sun or our rolling landscape. The warm lakes laying below fresh blasts of sub- zero winter air can generate the kind of lift necessary to make tall and puffy clouds, but generally winter clouds are dull.

I don't ever remember looking at an autumn sky and saying "wow, there's the first winter cloud" but every year about this time I look skyward and see my first summer cloud. It is an event that is fully as heart- clutching as seeing the first geese, but the geese are more predictable. You know to listen for them on the first south wind after the weather makes a pronounced break.

Last week I was cruising home from Syracuse one morning and suddenly saw my first summer cloud. It was a puffy knob of cumulus that sprouted from a raft of clouds that fairly bubbled with mirth as they danced shadow patterns upon the winter clouds well below. Perhaps it was this juxtaposition that made this year's "first summer cloud" so exciting; I was in clear warm air that was flowing over a layer of cold clammy air that was trapped at the surface.

We are at a time in- between. Winter is not done with us yet, but the new season's spirit can rally and dance upon winter's increasingly clumsy oppression. Orion grows quite large in the evening as it sets in the west, but still in darkness. At planting time, it will set along with the sun. This is the time of year when snow storms and thunderstorms can occur in the same week, and we can find ourselves alternately cleaning the garden and shoveling snow.

It is satisfying to realize that another winter has passed, as you listen to the robin's song or the chorus of peeper frogs at dusk. Life seems lighter, knowing that the few inevitable episodes of cold and snow yet to come will pass quickly. The season has turned, and the census of returning songbirds, emerging perennials and budding trees will move along quickly now.

I haven't said much about flying, but like life itself, flying is all about weather. When it is good, we bask in its splendor, and when it is bad, we usually slug on through it anyway. Sometimes we work around it and on occasion we just sit home and wait for a better day.

I have had a wonderful ten days since winter first was broken. I have started cutting next year's firewood, caught up on car maintenance, and built some new bluebird houses. In general I have been "mister attentive" with all the springtime yard chores, because this is the in- between season; the time after the thaw but before the ground dries enough to go flyin'!

The first summer cloud of 2003; just a little nub of cumulus, dancing upon the flat winter clouds.