There was a beautiful sunrise as Cindy and I set out on our ride this morning. Now that we leave at 6 a.m. instead of 5--and the days are getting longer--we ride in the daylight more than in the dark.

The birds are awake too. The crows are making a horrible racket and flying hither and yon, trying to decide which tree they're going to stake out for the day. The Canada geese are leaving the pond where they spent the night and flying off in pairs to do whatever it is that Canada geese do during the day. As we pass by the pond, there is a lot of honking, presumably the geese warming up for their day's adventures.

As we ride past the fields at the university there is a student with his three dogs. They are running together and having a marvelous time. Off in the distance I can just make out the blossoming trees that I want to get out and photograph before the blossoms are gone.

On campus, the smell of tomato sauce comes wafting from the direction of the cafeteria--I guess there is spaghetti on the menu for lunch. Students are beginning to stagger toward early morning classes.

Downtown, the garbage men are finishing up their collections and the streets have been swept. Commuters are starting to make their way toward the freeway.

Riding down F Street, we pass under a canopy of blossoms. Trees line both sides of the street and are covered in fluffy white blossoms. I love this time of year. The street only stays like that for about 2 weeks, but it's a beautiful two weeks.

I had made coffee before I left, so when I entered the house, the aroma of French Roast hit my nostrils and it was a warm, comforting smell. I fixed myself a bowl of Fiber One with a bit of yogurt added to it, poured myself a mug of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table.

The TV was on. Katie and Matt were looking grim. Then they cut away to Tom Brokaw, explaining what was about to happen in the United Nations chamber.

Next thing I knew, I was hearing the translation of the speech by the Russian ambassador, calling for time--study--another chance...

I remembered the 50's, when I was a kid. We were afraid of the Russians then. I was certain they would torture me by dunking me in scalding water and then in freezing water (I don't know where I got that idea), so I practiced taking a bath as hot as I could stand and as cold and I could stand. I wanted to be ready. We had drills where we hid under our desks in case of a bomb attack.

Now here was this nice man from Russia pleading for the United States to go slow, to give the inspections time to work.

"He tried to kill my Dad."

I could almost picture him standing in the White House stamping his foot. He tried to kill Dad and by God we're gonna get him.

I remembered the look on the faces of the young soldiers who have been interviewed lately, the ones so eager to take their new war toys out and play with them.

I thought of the mothers standing in some airport, waiting for the body bags to arrive.

Colin Powell gave his rebuttal. Tried to convince everybody that time was of the essence. Would it have been so urgent if there had been no 9/11--an event nobody has conclusively tied to Saddam Hussein? Would we be rushing in so eagerly? Or was that the excuse we were waiting for.

I remembered Powell being interviewed lately, explaining how it was not economically advisable to keep a large military force on foreign shores if they weren't actively engaged in battle. I couldn't understand that one. Were we going into war because it was cheaper than not going to war?

He tried to kill my Dad.

Now it was the French ambassador's turn. He talked of the hopeful signs, he talked about opening a Pandora's box that could never be closed again. He asked why we couldn't wait.

He tried to kill my Dad.

I went to the office. The trees in the parking lot were ablaze with pink blossoms, and the sky a deep blue with fluffy white clouds. A young mother walked by, carrying her child in her arms. I thought of the young mothers in Baghdad carrying their children to shelters as bombs fell.

Collateral damage. That's what they call killing mothers and children. So politically correct. So distanced from the reality.

I got in the car to drive to Cindy's office for my dental appointment. There was a tape in the player and Steve was singing one of his songs about living with AIDS. "I'm living one new hell after another," he sang. I thought it was the perfect song for this soon-to-be-war.

A flock of birds flew in lazy circles over the field opposite Cindy's office. The day was so beautiful.