~~ a calendar quindecim ~~
The trees are leafing, spring is in the air, but its mood is sour and has not been fair in weather put forth for all to enjoy active involvement of an outside toy. Instead, weekly thunderstorms are brewing, along tornadic funnel path strewing debris consisting of homes and huge trees ripped up by the roots, carried by the breeze on a not so fun ride to where 'twill abide-- forty or fifty feet laid on its side. The storms set down. They travel on the ground for miles while local warning sirens sound. Otherwise, the days present as a mix-- some sunny and mild, providing a fix for wintertime blahs we may need to nix. Limbs are bursting with new life at each bud, flowers peek through in their beds filled with mud. Yellow-green clouds billow upper reaches, against superior backdrop fetches passersby attention, birds on the fly seek rest from journeys soaring through blue sky. The sun shines brightly, gardens are planted, lakes and rivers call to souls needing soothed, and hiking trails beckon fitness imbued to engage in the life so long now queued-- waiting for the day living would return with loads of energy begging to burn. Actions the virus held in abeyance now returning 'midst movement and cadence high in the mountains and low in the fens. Springtime seems to be calling out this year to the souls and spirits of all who hear her luscious promise so precious and clear. Pain in our hearts for the victims of war. Such an odyssey--fallacies afar-- blaming the innocent for their own fear. How to learn from the daily wear and tear, decrease the valence? With good intent we share and attend the pain and suffering they bear. It nay alleviates hate in the air nor shields from the agony wrought anywhere when the world looks on, tells them of our care. No matter what we say as war instills pain, hearts will ne'er reclaim the old peace again. Remembrance o'er-shadows all occasion.
Photo Above: by Yoksel Zok @Unsplash.com.