The blooming we're going to get.

I'd say it's been an uncertain spring. But then again, what spring is not? Or what season, for that matter? I think to the joyous uncertainties of this time last year and might wince were it not for the fact that, as my flaming-sworded friend says, I wouldn't have seen what I saw had I not been (and were I not still) on the lookout for something. I'll paraphrase myself: it's a wonderful ferocity I'm waiting for. So this year is a bit more subdued than last. I trust that the ecstasy will return.

Here's a hint. Is there someone in your life of whom you think enormously highly, and does that person know how (and why) you feel? (I'm not talking about romance here, or not just about it. I'm talking the myriads who [d.v.] fill your life, all the affections that make you, even in their evanescence.) Write it down. Hand it over. This week, I've been marveling at the courage it takes--and creates--to notice another person and to reveal that someone's noticing, that attention is being paid. The noticing doesn't always get recognized or accepted: I've learned that much, and I too have been the culprit of non-acknowledgement. But when it does. Oh, when it does. So try it. Try the recognition. Start the volley.