... Now I have no proof of that statement ... but I can surmise. I do know that his first wife left him after nine months taking his only child, a daughter, away with her and refused to honour his 3 months per year custody rights; that he only got to know her when she was in her twenties, and not likely to play in mud luscious puddles on puddlicious afternoons.
I love his poem, but the reality for a dog owner living in the country is that all that delightful mud comes in on thick winter coats and paws and becomes, along with the shedding puffy masses of undercoat, sand, pine needles, and, in my case cedar sawdust from the latest construction work. After a few hours of sweeping, mopping, and bending, my floors are a little cleaner but my back feels as if it might break. I wish spring were over.
It is my least favourite season out here at the lake. It is the dirtiest season. The lake is unsafe so Kenya is unhappily restrained, and I am getting tired of always exercising her on-leash. Summer brings its own problems ... black flies, mosquitoes, and wet dog odours, but I can swim and kayak and enjoy the garden and deck, so those seem less formidable. Fall is the most beautiful time up here, followed closely by winter, despite the weather.
So ... while everyone happily quotes ee cummings in springtime, I say, bring on summer ... the sooner the better.