Seven Days, Fahrenheit; And Seeing Past The Parade

Burt Lancaster in Seven Days In May; Courtesy Paramount Pictures/Seven Arts Pictures

Here in the Poconos, the trees still whisper. A mourning dove calls across the hollow. No sirens. No speeches. Just wind, and memory, and the soft rhythm of a place that hasn’t forgotten how to listen.

But down in Washington, something’s stirring. Not the tanks—not yet. B…