It is a glorious Easter Sunday morning in Southern California, the faint traces of sea mist having been lifted into theblue by a warming sun. In our neighborhood, every tree is alive with birdsong, and the air is warm and golden in morning light. If one had to rise from the dead, rather than the more sensible path of simply moving on to some other life, this would be the day to do it. If one wished, alternatively, to start an uprising against the crass oppressive mercantile imperialism of the British, this would also be just the day. Suppose one wanted, as an alternative, to set out walking down a handy road, intent only on keeping on going on until some fine and magic entanglement befell? This, indeed, would be just the morning for such an adventure. In all things kind to life, today is a day for starting up, heading out, kicking in and going forth.

A
First Vowel