Twenty years before that we found ourselves in the heart of London having gotten off the bus from the airport. We knew we were in the general neighborhood of our hotel but I hailed a cab to take us to the address. He drove about 50 yards and charged us 4 pounds. Horizontal moves cost.Springtime is famous for having sprung us in both directions. Jesus ascended this year in sync with Moses parting the sea; so say the testaments. Rejoice, Hallelujah and Let My People Go. Both are fine metaphors for new growth, for seeding and nourishing. But have they lost sight of the natural sources?
Just open the window; imagine a deep breath of tulip. The matzoh-colored hills are smeared with mustard weed and otherwise suddenly greeny scapes. The spectrum won’t hold still for a minute. Peggy’s green eyes have turned bluish. Our coral tree raises its first red flag. Daffodils have popped their cork into yellow days. Verbena is a Sig Alert creeping beside the slow lane. Birds of paradise are laying orange eggs.
It’s blooming bloody April spring. Whales with any sense of direction are spouting it. The first pitch is being thrown on Opening Day. March Madness is down to the final four. The Dow-Jones bulb has pushed up through its dark days higher than hyacinth, higher than mysterious wisteria, the highest since Standard met Poor. The season is ripe for awakenings, uprisings and renewal while roots, shoots and shouts move horizontal. Amen.