Let's do something hands on. Let's look at the evidence
all around us, the birds, and plants and trees are doing their jobs, right on schedule.
Let us take off the heavy gloves of social caution and put on the work gloves, the ones with holes in the fingertips. These holes are pre-installed, free of cost, thanks to heavy use last year, and probably the year before that.
The Covid pandemic is real enough. But pandemic and springtime are separate empires of thought, incommensurable
ideas, maintaining their own quite borders.
I confess to voting for Spring, for all its
routine disappointments. And yet today's forecast for a cold, blustery, partly-cloudy day turned into a cool, breezy and ecstatic celebration of sunny skies, a sublime background for occasional flotillas of fair weather, cottony clouds, turned into an unexpected Mother's Day bonanza.
Already, April's bounty floats down to the pavement.
The young street trees turn the skyline lemon-lime with fresh new leaves. While their heavy forbears show tiny blossom, catkins, or bare branches against the deep blue skies.
Maybe something of this gold can stay.
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