Strong winds are rare; it doesn't often rain.
We've learned to treat the weather with disdain.
When someone plans a big outdoor event,
The chance is maybe less than one percent
Precipitation's gonna interfere;
No snow, nor sleet, nor hail will fall – not here!

Down near the coast we're rarely baked or boiled,
And one might say (in truth) we've gotten spoiled;
So maybe that's the reason why, right now,
I'm scowling, underneath a furrowed brow,
Disgruntled, with a most unpleasant frown,
Frustrated, hoping Winter's winding down...

Is this the Winter of my discontent?
You bet! It's rained in torrents ev'rywhere I went.
This weather's been the kind we rarely get;
I'm tired of being cold and getting wet.
We've had horrendous headwinds too this year;
I rode some downhills using granny gear!

The mornings have been overcast and damp,
So BLEEPIN' cold it made my knee joints cramp.
Plus even on the days it didn't rain,
The puddles haven't been real quick to drain,
And oil-scummed water splashing from the street
Has left black greasy streaks on my trike seat.

The Ojai Trail's still blocked by knee-deep mud,
The culvert at the creek's beneath a flood.
New potholes have developed on the roads,
And I won't be surprised if hordes of toads
Hatch out from all the puddles, ponds and pools,
Since Mother Nature's changing all the rules.

But wait... today's the twentieth of March;
The sun, while not quite hot enough to parch,
Is rising in a clear blue cloudless sky,
And puddles on the street begin to dry
As gentle breezes softly stir the air,
And flowers seem to pop up ev'rywhere.

The grass is green, the hills still capped with white,
And songbirds flit and flirt in joyful flight.
Thermometers above the local banks
Are reading sixty-something; smells of franks
Are wafting out from backyard barbeques,
As I hop on my trike and start to cruise.

The trike and I roll smoothly on our way,
No glass or goatheads pierce its tires today.
The only winds today that we can find
Are those that seem to nudge me from behind,
The scent of salty ocean, fresh and clean,
The sound of whirring gears on my machine.

We stop for brunch – a small beachfront cafe –
And sit outside where small brown finches play.
The offshore islands stand out, crisp and clear,
No ocean fog to make them disappear.
I sip hot coffee, brandishing a smile,
And then ride home, enjoying ev'ry mile.

Oh well... I guess this Winter we've just had
In retrospect was really not that bad;
It did make me appreciate one thing:
The wonder and the miracle of Spring!

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