A couple days ago, while meandering through the mustard blossoms that comes alive in our area during the winter months, I was reminded of a funny ritual where men in their suit jackets and top hats somewhere back east like to pull a groundhog out of his slumber in front of a large crowd of people.  They do this, holding him up, exposing his loins to cameras and the crisp clap of winter air to see if his shadow is cast, therefore declaring an early spring.

I found this amusing in a quaint manner while the sun beat down on my face warming my brow.  Within this magnificent world we reside, thriving with color, scent and texture, we endorse the confinements of the seasons to days and months.  If we are to live like the sun and rivers that truly etch the shape of the world, how can we follow such meager definitions of the seasons.  Let the winter of introspective reflection and the spring blossom of fair love of be one within us all at once.  To live like rich Kings, we must know the taste of dirt like th earthworm.

I rejoiced in this cool breeze of thought and headed through the greens with their yellow-burst top, laying my hands out to feel their bristly golden hue.  Each one a world unto itself.

~The Mayor

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