Wednesday, March 16, 2005

ANWR

To: president@whitehouse.gov
Subject: ANWR

Dear Mr. President,

Though I respect the office that you hold, I have to write and register my dismay and frustration at your administration's continued plans for oil drilling in ANWR. What a horrible precedent this will set for our country's future. How deeply you have underestimated the people of this country, and our willingness to make personal sacrifices through conserving energy in order to protect and preserve our nation's natural treasures. Today's extremely tight Senate vote approving this measure is being proclaimed as a victory for your administration, and so I will give you full credit. For you to turn your back on such a broad range of citizens, scientists, and scholars who have consistently and thoughtfully objected to this measure and asked sincerely for your consideration convinces me that you are deaf to those that do not share your views. I am distressed and disillusioned with this outcome.

Sincerely,

Sunday, March 13, 2005

Crocus vernus

DC can be especially dreary during the winter months; the landscape is grey and wet and muddy, and trash littering the banks of creeks and forests isn't camaflouged at all. But the change of seasons is happening now, and the other day the rain SMELLED like spring--that slightly metallic smell that streets get when the drops first hit the pavement. You don't smell that in winter. Anyday now the green world is going to reappear. Buds are growing, the birds are showing off, fruit trees already have the beginnings of flowers, and for those that prefer a more visible sign, there is the crocus. I'm going on a crocus hunt this morning. They've been in bloom for a few weeks now--the continuing cold weather doesn't seem to phase these little flowers. Crocuses aren't native to our area--dozens of varieties have escaped from gardens for decades until now they blend in with nearly every park and lawn in the region. But who could complain about them? It's always such a relief to see their cheerful heads poking through the mud and snow each year.