dimensions

Forsythia and azalea in bloom. The rule this far north is to wait until the forsythia drop their petals before planting seeds. I'm sure this is in an almanac somewhere, but the Garden Center people were nice about imparting this information. Wait for the yellow litter of the forsythia.

Waves of cherry blossom petals rolled across the tarmac in the gusts of April wind. It is warm. It is cold, depending on the sun, clouds and wind. The non-flowering branches have buds. Bright yellow-green streaks over the gray and brown valley. It is dramatic in its swiftness. In the course of a few days, vistas and dimensions glow - radiant.

Students are protesting - fees, debt, war, poverty, diminished diversity, autocracy at home, and at home. Almanac - mine. It is spring for all that. The righteous shouting and preening in the glorious sun of late morning, in this stage for youth and beauty, in this vale of illusion. Techno trance music plays in a knot of young people. They lounge on the new grass, baring the white of their winter skins - alabaster, plasticene - listening to a speaker. There is music, food. Organizers are talking about activism without making it sound like activism - making it sound like techno trance, Myspace, hookup, nobility, music - shit kids care about.

At my desk. This is the litter of complexity. Seeds to plant in soil. The blossoms have dropped. Chaos of mind, fear. This flowering is rough business. This season.