She contemplated the dripping rain outside her windows. Most everyone else is complaining. "Why must it keep raining?" "I want to enjoy Earth Day outside in the sun, not indoors hiding from the rain." "Surely I can't visit the park in weather like this." Why, they might melt, of course. It seems to her that these complainers, these know-nothings, can't appreciate Earth Day if they only worship a sunny, comfortable 60 degree day. No mosquitoes silently, threateningly gliding near, sweat dripping down the small of one's back. No bitter chill to the air, cutting through five layers of wool and down, instantly numbing los dedos.
A perfect Earth Day is one such as this ~ rivers swollen, potholes hidden inside puddles, and leaves dripping like gutters. That brilliant green so unique to spring popping each tiny branch. The ground, the dirt, the mud, the
earth smells rich and thick and dark and ready for growth. The world is cleansed from the pall of winter. It seems a shame to hide inside and miss the start of the show.
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