President's Day

The icy snow is perhaps the most appropriate expression for President's Day. It is winter's day. It has been winter's weekend, really. A frosty chill, snow since midnight. The office of President comes with its mighty symbolism and its debased temptations. It is why we need, more than ever, truly noble individuals, leaders with virtue. It is why the steady course is difficult to attain.

I could hear the bell's of Saint Bridget's echo through the tumbling snow, elegant crystals, cloud droppings this morning. A Norway spruce stands like a sentry at the intersection of my yard and my neighbors'. Its fifty years exceeds our lives. I have a fondness for the tree, its tenacity, its stature. My neighbor cannot stand the tree for the light it steals from her sun porch on summer evenings. Today, snow has covered its reaching branches like frosting. She calls it a pine tree; I do not tell her that its name is spruce. I play music for her church and yet I am not a Catholic. We share boundaries.

There is a beautiful beech grove on the northwest side of an esker up the street from my house in Maynard. Smooth gray bark, majestic peach-white leaves this time of year. The grove is maturing with many trees having come up right next to each other. The oldest have come to share the same trunk at their base. Two trees, one set of roots. These days, leaders with virtue.