Vertical / Horizontal

On the 96^th floor of the Hancock building Peggy and I celebrated our anniversary in our usual way reading poems to each other after dinner. when Peggy realized she left her poem behind in the hotel I leaped out of the window where a falcon was nesting….well not quite. I took the elevator down, raced across the street to our hotel, rode up to our room, then down and zoomed back up the 1,500 feet, on time before dessert arrived. Up and down travel is fast and free; why is that?

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.