How Springs are Born

 It is to a twelve year old boy from Wittipitlock who for reasons
      you will presently understand prefers to remain nameless
      that we owe spring this year, 

For in February when all hope was lost he burrowed beneath the
      floor of his Igloo shaped snow fort until he found himself
      able to caress the green skin of Eartherself and she
      quivered at the touch and he too,  

And polymorphous Eartherself came forth this time incarnate in a
      great Mythical She Beast with huge hay-stack breasts and
      the face of the eleven year girl who lives in Kingman
      across the insurmountable river,

And Eartherself wanted to see touch admire his private places and
      who was he to deny a goddess and her look caressed his
      young and just now budding stem into excitement and she was
      impressed as never before as it rose in ardent worship,

And she taught him to draw forth it's happiness.

A traveller passing by at that moment would have seen the snow
      undulating like a sheet covering lovers close to their
      consummation and would have heard surprised little groans.

Under the sheet the happy and undiscovered lover studied with
      pride the sticky pollen-sap that lay now upon the belly of
      his beloved Eartherself and understood now how springs are
      born.

Ah, look now at the damp April buds.

Can you doubt it?