The word “rambunctious” is not often seen in polite sentences these days, possibly because of its unruly length and large number of vowels, lacking only the ‘e’ to complete the vowel quintet.
The rowdy behavior described as rambunctious can only apply to a certain set of living beings, like puppies and teenagers. On the other hand one would never use the phrase “rambunctious turnips” unless attempting to win the Best Rock Band naming contest.
It comes all at once 
A companion to contemplation
Displacing the quiet stillness
With a sudden fury
That rattles the windows
And hammers the roof;
Beyond ideas and dreams
And desires and wants
In case you had forgotten
The great world competes
With all the other things
That demand attention
Though tempted
By coy distractions
And insistent chatter
This fierce rain
Reminds the senses
and announces
not that it exists
But that you do.
One of the best and influential books I read as a child and one I would faithfully read to my kids at night before bed was the simple tale of The Giving Tree, by Shel Silverstein. Silverstein’s vision of the tree as faithful companion of the boy, provider of shade to the young man, of wood for his home, and even in death as a place to rest the weary bones of the old man, resonates on some deep level with our better angels. And I want to believe that this sense of consistent caring is felt by everyone who reads the book. We all want to be that loyal and kind, to give of ourselves as part of all the things with whom we briefly share the planet. The Giving Tree embodies one of the reasons I write about “good stuff”.
We may give blood, or open the door for the person whose hands are full (or even if they are empty), or say “good morning” and “thank you”, or work at a food bank, or do all the myriad things large and small where we help one another. We don’t have to but we do them anyway, because it feels right. In those moments we set aside our cynicism and ego and become The Giving Tree, each and one.
whoisfenton 