The first day of spring around here isn't on a calendar; it's the first day the sky opens with its wombfull of warm amniotic and baptizes everything south of Route 94, in ten minutes twice.

This is spring in Wisconsin; rivers rise, fear of floods, and skateboard punks tattooing "N.O.A.H." across their shoulder blades then spending the afternoon shredding lightning.

Pardon me; I'm off to do some surfing 'long Rt. 18.

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