Quenching

To rise without feeling chilled. Light creeping in through pulled shades at the earliest hours. Today as drizzle followed rain and rain followed drizzle, everything living breathed in another height of richness. A tower of proto-flowers assembled out of the cherry bud, cherry leaf in tow; green flowers on maples soaked in drenching air spit microscopic pollen in a wind assisted copulation. Flowers everywhere, really. White dogwood, pink hued magnolias, forsythias yellowing edges everywhere. I notice the oak take the longest, though. Most of them still hold their winter appearance, but for a ruddiness and slight tinge of green at the edges of their fingered branches. Nature shows off these days; we delight in our luck to participate. With the rains these past days I have noticed the birdsong increases with showers. They celebrate with song the running of the water, the final thaw of springtime.

I read of Howard Dean calling Republicans for what they are and Senator Frist, one of the most underhanded of solipsists, threatening to fulfill their Machiavellian ambitions nonetheless. There is time for protest in the streets. Time to find ourselves united around the principles that stand for our best selves. Do not let them think these ambitions will go unchecked. We can be like the oak, patient and thoughtful, but sturdiest of all in the end.