Everyday is Earth Day

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.

Today we celebrate Earth Day. A great cause and idea. I would like to hear that we celebrate earth day everyday. Making our environment more "green" is a challenge when corporations continue to package products badly and consumers continue to dispose of their trash inappropriately. What can we do? I use a reusable water bottle and carry bags for groceries and purchases I make. We dispose of our trash appropriately. We don't own a car and we rent so on those fronts we're unable to act as we would like. I'd like to see our roof converted into a green space, that solar panels and windmills added to our building. We have a garden that supports wonderful wildlife like birds, bees, and fish. I look forward to see how Obama and his team move us forward on the "greening" of America.

I am reminded of our recent trip to Paris and all the artwork we saw that used nature as the subject. Monet is certainly one who comes to mind as well as Van Gogh. The list is huge.

HAMLET
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,
Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
Or that the Everlasting had not fix'd
His canon 'gainst self-slaughter! O God! God!
How weary, stale, flat and unprofitable,
Seem to me all the uses of this world!
Fie on't! ah fie! 'tis an unweeded garden,
That grows to seed; things rank and gross in nature
Possess it merely. That it should come to this!
But two months dead: nay, not so much, not two:
So excellent a king; that was, to this,
Hyperion to a satyr; so loving to my mother
That he might not beteem the winds of heaven
Visit her face too roughly. Heaven and earth!
Must I remember? why, she would hang on him,
As if increase of appetite had grown
By what it fed on: and yet, within a month—
Let me not think on't—Frailty, thy name is woman!—
A little month, or ere those shoes were old
With which she follow'd my poor father's body,
Like Niobe, all tears:—why she, even she—
O, God! a beast, that wants discourse of reason,
Would have mourn'd longer—married with my uncle,
My father's brother, but no more like my father
Than I to Hercules: within a month:
Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears
Had left the flushing in her galled eyes,
She married. O, most wicked speed, to post
With such dexterity to incestuous sheets!
It is not nor it cannot come to good:
But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.