"All sparkling with dew"... Spring and its flowers return to Cambridge, 2016

After an experience of coming near to death and being left hardly able to walk, this became a most sobering period of my life, without question. As a result of my caution and the possibility of another crippling fall, I retreated from so many of my favorite haunts and focused on the written word, which I more easily control, for I am the master of the lyric voice, and I never needed it so much, after I lay sprawled, concussed, isolated, and in despair. One day, a few months ago, I finally decided to test my abilities by reverting to some of my usual habits and dispositions. I seized my cane, took the elevator to the ground floor, and resolved I would walk to the Sheraton Commander Hotel for breakfast, as I so usually used to do. It is only a few short blocks from my residence, and I so often enjoyed noting the progress of the plants, while enjoying the plethora of various weathers, a particular joy and consternation in New England. Yes, I loved to check the progress of the fast emerging flowers along my way, progress I never failed to note. It was always good to see them. But this time I had to stop at every step and place my foot just so, so I would not fall; pausing to ascertain my progress, my hands secure on the guardrail, my feet awkwardly arranged on the steps. I moved slowly, deliberately, unsure yet certain I must do this, or never walk again. I walked a half a block or so, and then I faltered, saying "Do not overdo what you mean to do, for you have been so immobile for so long now, and must consider every step you take, and realize what another fall might do." I paused outside my residence, trying to convince myself that I could not proceed, that I was not ready to proceed, that I dare not proceed, for fear of all that could transpire. Then there it was, nestled against the brick pavement, a dandelion, its bright yellow arresting my attention, the first I had seen this year. It spoke to me from its perfect beauty, disdained by so many, but not by me. It said, "Your Excellency," for that is my proper style, "You can do this, you must do this. You may shut yourself up in opulence and luxury, but one breath of cool fresh air is worth a king's ransom to you now." I faltered just a bit, and then, in the most courageous thing I have ever done, I took one step towards my destination, and resolved that come what may I would walk out this day, and exchange greetings with the world, which had missed me, as I had missed it. I made my destination and had shown myself and the world what I might still do with the help of a dandelion, which winked at me as I ambled home, and said, "Godspeed, Your Excellency, now you know what you can do. That is a very good thing to know." This is the power of flowers, and I had known it all my life. The flowers of springtime in New England are the happiest and most welcome flowers of all. They confirm, you see, the bitter winter with its arctic winds, and its blizzards that stab you on their way are gone, gone, all aspects of the frigid and disconsolate past, gone. Now, is our patience, our tenacious patience, rewarded by a beauty that asks for nothing more than cheerful recognition and acknowledgement. This book, in three chapters, celebrates some of this needed beauty, thereby lightening your burden.