Cold and dark nights knew not we
Nor an evening's warm fire light
Only a little snow did we see
A Winter's tale on one icy night
Fair Winter into the past receding
Onward Texas, this wondrous land
Relentless sun and respite needing
Behold, Spring once more at hand!
Underneath the yearling green
Hopes held dormant hibernate
Seeking, longing for things unseen
Another Winter's day to liberate
Ye weary days of Winter, rest!
Slumber and renew your energy.
In molten months, we'll roam distressed
Until again met with a mighty season's apogee.
Many love the season of spring, myself included. Yet, I enter it with trepidation, my gaze cast over my shoulder to the fading promise of a favorite season. Arctic blasts heralding the portent of snow, but usually leaving only ice, or more often nothing at all. Still I mourn its passing, and look forward to its return year after year.
There seems to be some controversy regarding the date of this year's vernal equinox; it arrives at 12:07 AM UTC (3/21), or 7:07 PM CDT (3/20). So, it occurs either today or tomorrow, depending on where you are. Take the time to read Natalie Angier's article in today's New York Times, "The Tilted Earth at It's 'Equal Night of Spring'" . In it she writes, "Whatever the date, go on and celebrate, for the vernal equinox is a momentous poem among moments, overspilling its borders like the swelling of sunlight it heralds." Delightful writing, and a fulfilling conclusion.
Although I write here of a passing season, I should highlight one fact. The greatest snowfall I've ever seen occurred April 19th, 1996, while I was camping. April, as you know, is the heart of spring here.
Hope remains.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Ides of March
Cæsar: What sayst thou to me now? Speak once again.
Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Cæsar: He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
(Julius Caesar I.ii.28-30)
Caesar cast off the warning, but we know his fate. Behold, the Ides of March has come. Take heed this day.
While we have a (to put it mildly) disinclination toward Friday 13th, I'm fascinated by the knowledge that for the Spanish Tuesday 13th is considered unlucky. I initially learned this on the television program "Hey, Dude!".
For Caesar, it was the fifteenth. As the soothsayer foretold, the ides did not treat him well at all. Such benevolence and such tragedy. Perhaps he should not have thrice refused the thrice offered crown, but then it would have seemed ambitious. Brutus was right on that point.
It's such a nice day outside.
Soothsayer: Beware the ides of March.
Cæsar: He is a dreamer; let us leave him: pass.
(Julius Caesar I.ii.28-30)
Caesar cast off the warning, but we know his fate. Behold, the Ides of March has come. Take heed this day.
While we have a (to put it mildly) disinclination toward Friday 13th, I'm fascinated by the knowledge that for the Spanish Tuesday 13th is considered unlucky. I initially learned this on the television program "Hey, Dude!".
For Caesar, it was the fifteenth. As the soothsayer foretold, the ides did not treat him well at all. Such benevolence and such tragedy. Perhaps he should not have thrice refused the thrice offered crown, but then it would have seemed ambitious. Brutus was right on that point.
It's such a nice day outside.
Monday, March 12, 2007
Saturday
I was witness Saturday to the wedding of a cherished friend, and it was a privilege to be able to celebrate with her on that day. It afforded the too rare opportunity to connect with absent friends and to lay the foundation with those who might be friends in the future. One instantly acquires an enriched knowledge of a person by moving into their relational sphere. The keen observer knows where to look for clues about a person by looking in a few places. Two of my favorites are what books they have on their shelves and what company they keep. Saturday was a day of celebration, but also of love shared, joy expressed, even spiritual renewal.
But this entry isn't about that. While I enjoyed it and took much from it, Saturday wasn't my day. I mention it only to pay homage to the two around whom it was centered and to preface what was on my mind that night.
I arrived home after a full day aware that I had an early morning and an hour was already lost (with thanks to the Energy Policy of 2005). I should have crawled immediately in to bed, but I instead settled into the chair in my office. Lacking any real goal, I fired up Google Earth (an application that should prove beyond a shadow of doubt there is indeed a higher power). I had recently read a news article reporting that someone believes to have discovered a massive impact crater in Nevada, and I had spent some time discussing with co-workers on Friday the glass-floored skybridge extending beyond the sheer walls of the Grand Canyon (where fear-induced cardiac arrest is yours for the low price of $25). These were in my head as I took in an overview of the United States. However, I didn't zero in on either of these, as I first suspected I would. Instead, my attention wandered from my home base to the area surrounding our nation's capital. Inspiration struck when I discovered full-screen mode, and I zoomed across the Atlantic to Münich.
One of the first things I did upon my return from Germany in October was to look down upon this city and make note of any interesting thing I might have missed during my time there. As I looked upon it again Saturday, I retraced my footsteps from the door of my hotel to some of the more interesting sites, investigating undiscovered side streets as I went along. Fatigue eventually reminded me of where I should be, so I retired after only a few minutes.
With my head settling into my pillow and my eyes adjusting to the dark, my mind was filled with memories from that vacation. The endless beauty of the Bavarian capital, the streets of Rothenburg redolent of a past age, the crush of Saturday afternoon shoppers in Cologne. Me, wandering wide-eyed, listening the constant voice in my mind reassuring me, "You are really here."
It is difficult to find sleep with such images rolling by invoking thoughts of what the future might hold. Then dreams; then the morning.
But this entry isn't about that. While I enjoyed it and took much from it, Saturday wasn't my day. I mention it only to pay homage to the two around whom it was centered and to preface what was on my mind that night.
I arrived home after a full day aware that I had an early morning and an hour was already lost (with thanks to the Energy Policy of 2005). I should have crawled immediately in to bed, but I instead settled into the chair in my office. Lacking any real goal, I fired up Google Earth (an application that should prove beyond a shadow of doubt there is indeed a higher power). I had recently read a news article reporting that someone believes to have discovered a massive impact crater in Nevada, and I had spent some time discussing with co-workers on Friday the glass-floored skybridge extending beyond the sheer walls of the Grand Canyon (where fear-induced cardiac arrest is yours for the low price of $25). These were in my head as I took in an overview of the United States. However, I didn't zero in on either of these, as I first suspected I would. Instead, my attention wandered from my home base to the area surrounding our nation's capital. Inspiration struck when I discovered full-screen mode, and I zoomed across the Atlantic to Münich.
One of the first things I did upon my return from Germany in October was to look down upon this city and make note of any interesting thing I might have missed during my time there. As I looked upon it again Saturday, I retraced my footsteps from the door of my hotel to some of the more interesting sites, investigating undiscovered side streets as I went along. Fatigue eventually reminded me of where I should be, so I retired after only a few minutes.
With my head settling into my pillow and my eyes adjusting to the dark, my mind was filled with memories from that vacation. The endless beauty of the Bavarian capital, the streets of Rothenburg redolent of a past age, the crush of Saturday afternoon shoppers in Cologne. Me, wandering wide-eyed, listening the constant voice in my mind reassuring me, "You are really here."
It is difficult to find sleep with such images rolling by invoking thoughts of what the future might hold. Then dreams; then the morning.
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