When we were young, and a storm came, we cut holes for our heads and arms in a big green garbage bag, and we ran outside to splash in warm puddles of rainwater while we counted the seconds between the crash of thunder, and the flash of lightning.

We tore the cherry tomatoes off the vine, and ate them, crunching through summer sweetness, washing that down with a swig of garden hose water.

We ran through the sprinkler and rode our bikes barefoot. We did most everything in bare feet, feeling the heat of the sun under our soles, stubbing our toes on rocks, and spokes.

We played baseball, and football, and army, and school, and we loved and hated each other like brothers and sisters. We paired off, and broke up, and made out, and grew up and nothing was ever the same once high school came.

My children will never know there was a time when I was fearless. There was a time when I was not shackled to a career, a mortgage, the bills, all the trappings of the American "dream." There was a time when I was free.

Frigid January night;

Blossoms curled, asleep,

Awaiting warm April.

Frosty February dawn;

Blossoms huddle, patient,

Hints of spring.

Blustery March morning;

Trees unfurl tender green sails,

Worship the resurrected sun.

Brilliant April afternoon,

Blossoms explode, a blizzard;

Frothy pink and white.

God willing, you will be home,

And see for yourself,

The cherry blossoms on Wooster Square

This April.