Much news tomorrow, including about a thousand takes on "An Inconvenient Truth," including mine, but on this holiday weekend let us enjoy our day of rest, and the new life the new season has brought us.
A little poem on the growth of redwoods (such as this) can be found below the virtual fold by Jane Hirschfield, who is one of America’s best, if not best known, poets.
But isn’t the green of this new growth in itself a little touching? Hope is not just "the thing with feathers that perches in the soul," as Emily said; it’s literally a part of all us, plants included.
Tree by Jane Hirshfield (from her "Given Sugar, Given Salt," pub. 2002)
It is foolish
to let a young redwood
grow next to a house.
Even in this
you will have to choose.
That great calm being
this clutter of soup pots and books–
Already the first branch-tips brush at the window.
Softly, calmly, immensity taps at your life.