Dogwood and Redbud Day

"Nature knows no indecencies; man invents them."   - Mark Twain's Notebook

Yesterday was a dogwood and redbud day under a clear Missouri sky, but it was an unexpected surprise.  Thunderstorms rolled in with fireworks about 3 o'clock and continued to blow through until about 8.  Then the morning sky turned gray and the air felt damp and sticky.  All forecasts called for partly cloudy at best, but by noon the sky was clear.  This surprising day became a glorious riot of warmth and color.

For over an hour we enjoyed the solitude of the Little Lost Creek Wildlife Area and soaked it all in--the warm, earthy smells of the woods after rain, the new minted green of spring grass, the sudden appearance of several butterfly species flitting through the stand of oak trees, and the antique foundation of an old homeplace at least fifty years after demolition.  I could see a fifty-year-old oak now towering up where the old kitchen used to create the smells of home.  I wondered who lived there and what happened.

Yesterday was spring baked in a 90-degree oven as I sat on the levee at New Haven watching the Missouri River flow past on its way to the Mississippi River just north of St. Louis.  The water reflected the blue sky.  The north shore trees appeared pale green.  The grass under foot was dark, vibrant green.  The sun felt hot on my pale winter skin.  Finally, after all we have been through for the past months, it was spring in the heartland.

As I sat on the levee bench, I imagined the exotic Mandan village that perched by the river when Meriwether Lewis and William Clark led their expedition here.  Moving upriver then required the hard labor of poling and paddling long before the luxury of steamboats.  I think about what they saw.  I mourn what has been lost forever and celebrate what has been perserved.

I imagine Samuel Clemens coming here on a steamboat in 1861 and stepping off the landing stage at Miller's Landing.  He was on his way out west to Nevada with his older brother Orion.  He was leaving the dangers of Civil War Missouri and heading out into the unknown.  That day he stopped here in July, he was just another passenger.  Years later, Sam returned a famous man.  It was his time on the river.  Yesterday was mine.

Sitting there, I thought about time and how it moves like a river--never stopping, never reversing course, never completely remembered or totally forgotten.  I thought about past, present, and future coming together.  I thought about memory and prophecy and how quickly the river moves, and how it never stands still.

I thought about the glory of April 9 we will carry with us but never see again, but I also thought about the present.  I thought a great deal about the present moment in which all things live.