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48 Hours

Unfortunately, the real countdown to war seems to have begun tonight.

Too bad diplomacy didn’t work — Powell’s had his chance — and failed. We’ll likely never try the U.N. route again. Not that that’s particular bad — we’ve ignored it many times before.

But there was such an effort to make this work — now so seemingly naive in the face of some of our partners’ real agendas.

And, we’ve ramped back up to Orange on the homeland security scale — with words indicating this is a more serious Orange than the last two times.

Meanwhile, I’d like to “be able to hear the snow melting”.

This is a time of year that makes me wish I could slough my skin entire, like a snake, just walk away from that old integument and step out new into the air. Humans thrive on the metaphors of rebirth and regeneration, and the trouble is that they’re nearly always only metaphors. But it’s the actuality of spring that overwhelms us. Every hour peels back another layer of snow and shrinks the dominion of ice. The ground gives, and the sap streams upward. The finches molt into their mating colors. I walk out among it all and find myself hoping to change with the season, too.

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