source: Treehugger.com
“Ahh, how lovely!” I was thinking to myself as I meandered back to the house from the school bus stop, “Richmond in the springtime! Trees are blossoming, flowers are blooming, and it’s so nice and warm! I feel so sorry for my friends up north.”
At least, that’s what I was thinking until I saw the cushions on the chairs on my front porch.
I was just about to walk back into the house, when I noticed out of the corner of my eye that my red and gold striped cushions had acquired a funny greenish-yellow tinge to them. Perplexed, I bent down to look more closely at one of them, and rubbed my finger across it. It left a trail behind in the original colors.
“Eww!” I though to myself. “Pollen! What the heck is this stuff?”
Oh well, I decided, a quick dusting will take care of it. I grabbed a couple of cushions and knocked them together.
Poof! A disturbingly large greenish cloud wafted up in front of me. I half expected an evil genie to materialize as well. Yuck!
Thump, thump, thump! I went into a cushion-bashing frenzy until the evil green clouds stopped materializing and the cushions were showing their original color again.
Having won this round against the pollen, I replaced the cushions and went to go back inside. As I turned, I saw my neighbor across the street at her mailbox, looking at me with what appeared to be some concern. I smiled and waved at her nonchalantly as if going medieval on outdoor furniture was what I normally do in the morning. Then I casually went back inside to look for my inhaler.
I have to admit, when I first moved here, I thought people were exaggerating about allergy season in Richmond. As a “professional trailing-spouse” I have lived in quite a few places: Toronto, Brussels, Belgium; two different times in Michigan; Austin, Texas; and now Richmond. When I was in Austin, everyone had assured me that it was the official allergy-capital of the United States. I thought I was no stranger to pollen.
But this is something entirely new. I must admit I have never seen anything quite like this, this bizarre coating of greenish-yellow evil-fairy dust that coats my mailbox, the barbecue, and even my car. It seems like something out of Dr. Seuss.
Did someone get angry at the sky? Have we angered the trees? Can we apologize and make it go away?
How about, “I’m sorry about all those times I said I hated snow and never wanted to see it again!” Would that do it?
