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Pointillism An April breeze scatters pink blizzards of cherry blossoms. Dogwood petals dust the pines, and azaleas flare in red bundles against green grass. Stark branches soften with color, the horizon mists with buds. The world's a blur of beauty, a color print enlarged beyond definition, the essential particles exposed, throwing the scene out of focus, saving only the Truth. Facing Reality Thomas D. Burkett Spring is early this year, not just hasty, but premature. February nineteenth and the leaves appear on lilac, willow, and peach; blossoms on cherry and flowering Judas. Even the roses push out shoots of purple and green. We hold our breath, wait for the other shoe to fall— for winter to return for the kill, for this misguided life to be nipped in the bud. How easy to think of Persephone in her dark home restless for the light beginning her return to the land of the living. Better that than beauty iced in by a bend in the jet stream and bare branches in April sun. 34 ...

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