Yes, there is a yard or two of ground prepared and yes there are Sprouting Potato to plant, and yes the morning is "rain last night," or if your prefer "cloud and mud." I guess too, it would be a very good time to take on quantities of alcohol sufficient to reduce the remainder of the day to a discordant blur, as the rivers run green, and far away Beautiful Fairies emerge from their burial mounds to cajole and tempt us mortals, and if you ask why the great poets die young, it's because they surrender to the prettiest or handsomest Pixie. But many more of us who develop a familiarity with the Dionysian Challenge begin to appreciate the every-day-ness of Saint's Days, such that for some of us what's loosely referred to as 'sobriety' can only be achieved within the confines of the Devil's own holding cell.
I guess I have to admit that the Dionysian Challenge, is no more than my own reading of an ancient cult. "Bacchus, and the Baccalaureate," I could call it. The challenge, it seems to me, was to put drunken revelry, orgiastic behavior and excess under the charge of an equivalent to something like Bishops rather than Barmen, Bouncers and the Magistrates Court. In the golden era, before a person could indulge in the jolly good fun of an altered and often barbaric state, he or she endured an initiation by officers of the faith that insured the soundness and quality of what was considered a spiritual experience. In short, in past time, it was less like being an entitled lunatic, than it was like practicing a warranted religion. Either way, freeze or frost, the rain gauge is returned to the rain gauge holder, because not knowing how much rain fell last night is more than my own being can comfortably manage.