It is spring. And in Louisiana this is not a good thing. It brings that line home about what that one guy said about April, its cruelty. Although the weather is good for about a week, I begin to smell the water in the air and know what is to come. Heat and humidity. Over-air conditioned bars that breed summer colds. Men in shorts who should never wear shorts that mix with sleeveless tees. The sweat that stirs curious little rashes that we can’t name that breed staff infections. The hoards of Jazz Fest attendees that simply just breed. This week, Frank Giampietro’s work reminds me that there is deep sorrow in cyclicality, of knowing what is to come. And great joy. If I focus on tomorrow, I will never enjoy today. Sometimes that is difficult, near impossible, but nonetheless something of which I should never lose sight. There are things for which I should always be grateful, like those Midwesterners and their pasty, exposed arms.