Earth Day on Hermit Pond

In a former life I would have posted a profanity-laced tirade and rant about the absurdity of the pagan, high-holy ritual that is the celebration of “earth day.” I am, however reformed, and will join in the celebration in praise of mother earth and the majestic, natural beauty of my pond, which was dug a few years ago, by drunken men, with diesel-belching earth-moving equipment.

This is the largest body of water at the complex, (the second largest being the septic tank,) and it is finally showing signs of spring. It is no Walden, but I believe Thoreau would have been proud to wash his dirty socks at its edge or unleash his manhood and pee, unfettered and recklessly, from its slippery banks sending a long, golden stream of philosophical wee-wee into its murky waters.

The bullfrogs are beginning to croak, (must be the pesticides) and are emerging from the muck and mire, still dark from their long winter spent buried deep in the rich mud and dead car batteries. These splendid amphibians are stirring in the cattails, preparing for their months-long festival of orgiastic dry-humping, unleashing an infinite horde of fertile tadpoles, eager to wiggle their way through the tepid waters, seeking to penetrate the elusive ovum of romance and biological imperative.

I will now go out back and set fire to some vinyl siding and old tires, sending a fragrant burnt offering up to Al Gore in celebration, then I shall eat a box of Grape Nuts ^® in memory of Euell Gibbons.