Spring moves grandly through these days, a sequence of days all shedding different flowers, First it was huge camellias followed by star magnolias. Now cherry trees seem to have brought with them an inch of pink snow. Why complain of tears then?

And then today breaking sprigs of mauve from Red Buds lining the avenues, I could not but wonder How those black twisted branches held such deep color Or how well they keep their strength hidden and didn’t let Judas down until he swung dead. Why complain of betrayal then?

The earth hurtles towards heat. Someplace now It is descending from the skies, falling as bombs on the ziggurats. Here we moth ball our woolens, switch on the air conditioning and prepare to wait the summer's siege out, after the winter. Why complain of burning then?