Earth Day

Easter tables all over the Northeast held brilliant bouquets pronouncing the return of Spring. Ours was picked with care and brought much delight to all who circled around. Truly, an easy delight for any and all after months of a black and white landscape. Today there is yellow and orange, pink and red and all those in between hues of daffodil, tulip and ranunculus in every stage of bloom. Today is the start of a world overcome by this joyous return.

Every year on April 22, Earth Day is celebrated by 1 billion people in more than 193 countries. It marks the anniversary of the beginning of the modern environmental movement that started in 1970, but is also a day to show support for the Earth and raise awareness of environmental issues,” says Google. As I stroll through gardens bursting with Spring it seems the least we can do is support this beautiful planet that has given us so very much, our every nourishment in fact. Today I am drinking in all those rich gifts.

Is there anything more spectacular than finding purple and green where yesterday there was only brown and gray? I find myself drawn like a bee just going from flower to flower to nourish me after this long winter. Eye candy. Sweet delight. All for free to gaze.

#investinourplanet is the Earth Day 2022 theme. How simple to hashtag a concept, yet so difficult to shift a world bent on destruction. Today I focus on all the easy beauty. So very grateful that it is indeed as easy as blooms on the trees and along the garden paths. How fortunate we have been for so many decades, millenniums even. Perhaps not so for those who will come after us, but for this day, with the blue sky, the fat robin hopping along the lawn, and the buzz of the bee chasing down each bloom, I will rejoice on this Earth Day.

And take in all She has gifted us. What a treasure to watch each April, life resurfacing like a goddess from the Underworld, this Persephone made visible, this hope realized once more.

 

How Can I Still Love Teaching You Ask?

How can I still be in a classroom, and still love teaching, even this year, you might ask? Well it isn’t necessarily due to anything particularly done by the greater public or certainly not all the ups and down of working around COVID protocols. There is just something that happens when, text in hand, I sit among readers and writers, and we talk complex characters or plot twists or even a last word, that just fuels me. We are in need of some hope, and whether plodding though Shakespeare’s Hamlet or being somewhat horrified by Shelley’s Frankenstein, or discovering the images and poetry generated during the short life of Basquiat, my student’s visions and imagery and words grant a faith in mankind I might not have found without them.

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The Slap

After what seemed like the full-on advent of Spring we here in the Northeast were slapped hard by the return of frosty air and wind filled with snow. It was hard to take for sure when it hit us squarely across bared faces. I know I should have not fallen for the tease of ease, but I did, rather like an amateur in this region might have made. Quite similarly, I was swept up in the fanfare and glitter on Oscar night, the easy banter of those witty hosts, the hope that this year a more diverse and promising bank of recipients might hold their trophies high over head in pride. And they did. All of that. But the sting of that slap, that one violent recrimination captured by the ever present Eye, stings just as bad as the Arctic blast battering us back inside our homes. Back to wonder, how did we become a nation where shame is no longer felt when it is clearly earned?

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