Daffodils:
"I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,...


...For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

-- William Wordsworth"

Really?
Really.
Had a really bad day last Sunday. I awoke truly disappointed that I had done so. Spent the day in the bottom of a well without bottom. In case you have never been there, it is not so nice. In the evening I went to sleep, wishing I had the might to stay that way.
That night I had the most beautiful dream I ever had: After playing bouncy ball with Gigi, my favorite lost dog (sorry, Ginger), I found myself in my childhood home, and then a car drive with my mother through the fields near our home. We went down into a shallow valley over which we floated in what I assumed was a hot air balloon (I never looked up).
It was the lovliest scape I ever saw, and still is. There were golden mounds of ground grain, heaps of paprikas, the size of babies' heads, red and yellow and green. Orchards heavy with fruit. I was surrounded by horizons filled with brilliant patches of color. Just lush. Into the gorgeous distance workers sowed beneath wide-brimmed hats and a vibrant technocolored sky.
We floated just above the valley's floor, and when I saw something I wanted, we would inch closer, and I would stretch down and grab it. Fresh Bread. French cheeses. Peaches. I had everything I needed. My dog. My mother. Life was perfect.

When I awoke, I was saying aloud: "daffodils."
I do not actually remember the daffodils. Indeed, while I awoke saying daffodils, I have no idea the signifigace. To be honest I could not have pick up them out of a line up. But I will say this: They are now the key to another place. When I say that word to myself, I am warmed inside against the cold "grey haze" that seeks to envelop these days: dream as memory.

I did some research on daffodils (sounds better than "googling", doesn't it?), and came across this Wordworth poem. I used to read a fair bit of literature back when I was young and I thought such things would make me seem more entertaining at cocktail parties.
But whether this is memory or magic, I do not need to know. I will judge this tree by its fruit.
"daffodils"
still works.

Read This Article:
"Al-Kahtani was interrogated for 18 to 20 hours a day for 48 of 54 days; he had water dripped on his head and was blasted with cold air-conditioning and loud music to keep him awake; his beard and head were shaved; he was forced to wear a bra and panties and to dance with a male jailer; he was hooded; he was menaced with a dog, told to bark like one and led around on a leash; he was pumped full of intravenous fluids and forced to urinate on himself; he was straddled by a female interrogator and stripped naked; and more -- all under a list of interrogation methods personally approved by Rumsfeld."