Public policy, social issues, gender politics, religion, civitas, and other taboo topics fall under the hammer of Shava's iconoclasmic force of natural philosophy.
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September Oregon vs. September Cambridge
Friday, September 02, 2005
9:23 PM
In Oregon, about this time of year, the gritty tightness of late summer gives way to rain. If the rain is enough, you can walk down the street and see the first curls of ferns coiled tight, ready to unfurl from the crotches of the big trees around town. Lawns that have been boasting a politically correct tan take to greening exuberance, and gardens strained from a dusty harvest season go suddenly rampant with weeds.
In the evenings, the sound of rain is like a sigh of relaxation. All nature is letting hir hair down, stretching, like a lover after a massage at the end of a long weary working week.
But in Cambridge, the season's change comes with a different patter. Today after wrestling with the angels to try to get Joseph registered for school (I nearly succeeded, but that's another essay), I got a bit of hummos and pita bread and stopped at the cafe tables inside Harvard Yard.
I've been feeling like a bit of an interloper on the Harvard campus, but today I started to feel at home. It rains on and off all summer here, but in Cambridge the drought in summer is one of students and chatter. The yard was suddenly a-buzz. The average age of a Cantabrigian went down ten years or so this week. There is a flux and flow and bustle at the beginning of the year in a college town...
And that's when it hit me. It's new years! In an agricultural society, new years comes with the return of the light and warmth of Spring. In this town of many minds, it's the influx of young bright energy that is our spring. Thoughts linger tentatively in the rafters of dorms hundreds of years old just like the coils of young ferns.
Springs.
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