Let the Cypress Sing Amen

Before the parting of the ground for the bare and exiled root
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress wanderers sing Amen!
Before the new foundation, before the rebar and cement
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress brethren sing Amen!
In the parting of the clods, in the planning of the walls
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress family sing Amen!
Amidst the leaves and wires, all the words, the muddy tires
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress congregation sing Amen!
I see lemonade and gardens--children, cooks, and artists
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress bards sing Amen!
Where waters have receded, where rebuilding is needed
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress readers sing Amen!
By the slim announcement upon which my hope is founded
I dream a celebration:
Let our Cypress pilgrims sing Amen!

Last night, we received word that our library would be rebuilt, with a possible groundbreaking late in 2019. I'm hopeful that the delay is caused by a need to plan around and possibly dismantle existing buildings, the need to build up a mound similar to those that Mercer arboretum has built as berms and viewpoints above the banks of Cypress Creek, and that the architects and financiers are dreaming with largesse and whimsy.

They probably aren't...however, the poem above was sparked by my dream for an opening celebration for the new library. I imagine it being scheduled for a lovely early fall Saturday after the library has been built with a wraparound covered porch with reading nooks and places to overlook the gardens. I imagine a roof designed to accommodate star parties.

I imagine crowds coming to see children from local clubs performing; the high school bands and orchestras sending musicians; local theater companies reading stories from Harvey or reenacting the arrival of the library's namesake, Mr. Baldwin Boettcher, from Germany; even, perhaps, an actor dressed appropriately with a concertina around his waist wandering around to tell stories of what it was like to come to Texas and why a library was eventually named after him.

I imagine hot dogs and those amazing watermelon or cantaloupe drinks from Old Town Spring, nachos and BBQ, a plant show, and guided tours of the new library and grounds.

I imagine craft tables for kids.

I imagine covered tables where groups associated with the library get a chance to meet the neighbors and talk about what they do and how the library has supported them in their endeavors.

I imagine local politicians reminding themselves why they chose to serve--what it means to have a community and to take care of that community.

I imagine these things because it keeps me from screaming Why so long? It keeps me from picturing the water covering the road; it keeps me from remembering that Saturday before the hurricane sitting in the library and thinking that everything would be fine.

I imagine these things because you can't create what you refuse to imagine.

-- Chrissa