The cherry blossoms must come to Washington more often to work their magic on our collective constitution.

The capital city, made of marble, sometimes seems cold and hard as the creamy stone itself.

But we're not that bad. On the battleground of our divided country, we feel its pain and stress. As if they knew how much we needed help, the ring of cherry trees round the tidal waters framing the Jefferson Memorial blossomed early, even before spring. This is the 100th birthday of Japan's enchanting gift, and the word is they never looked so dreamy.

Or perhaps it's in the weary eyes of the beholders.

I saw with my own eyes how the rhapsody in bloom works as a cure for what ails us. In fresh light, I bicycled down by the river to join the party. As throngs walked beneath the pale pink petals, time seemed to float on air, and 1912 felt like yesterday. Serenity descended on my fellow pilgrims and me.

Meanwhile, tea partiers raged outside the Supreme Court building for days, protesting President Obama's health care reform as its fate was being debated inside. Opponents of "Obamacare" snarled at the plan as an affront to freedom. Outnumbered supporters of health care as a human right were no match for their passionate intensity. If the First Street scene was a harbinger of what's coming in June — the momentous ruling — hey, the wind's not blowing Obama's way.

This prelude to the presidential campaign season was not pretty. The uncivil war looms, dividing our house all the more. Buried in the city's memory is the real Civil War, 150 years ago.

Cheer up, I said to myself. This is the robust noise of democracy. It brought to mind Carl Sandburg's populist poem, "I Am the People, the Mob," which he wrote when he peaked roughly a century ago: Democracy was never, well, a tea party.

Back to the blossoms, "living symbols of friendship," as the Library of Congress exhibit is titled. Washington, a city of chiefs, tribes, lawyers and the biggest talkers in America, does not have many equalizers.

By that I mean somewhere a free people congregate, from those clad in 1912 period dress to those in military uniform. The Pentagon is right across the river, the fortress standing sentry after a terrorist attack and two 21st century wars. By contrast, an elderly New Yorker told me the cherry trees are a vision of nations at peace.

Out-of-towners don't know how great it is for Washingtonians to go somewhere without our business cards. Talking to strangers is not strictly prohibited. Washington becomes a version of Our Town, as we let down our locks, guard and blood pressure for a fleeting space of time. The festival isn't over — Michelle Obama will do the centennial honors Tuesday — yet the end is near.

Then again our workaday world will take over. Away in the blue distance, the Capitol dome is ground zero for our political climate change. The dome is heating up to levels never before seen. It's our crisis writ large: the House run by rambunctious Republicans; the Senate controlled by sedate Democrats. No love is lost between the bipolar chambers and parties. If you wonder why Congress can't agree on anything, that's why.

Come to think of it, I saw no senators or House members getting the cherry blossom cure down by the river. Most sprint home to their states at close of business.

In a city of black and white, under Jim Crow's thumb in 1912, the new memorial honoring Martin Luther King Jr. is near the traditional cherry blossoms. That's no small thing to take home.

If the cherry blossoms can't come more often to lift every spirit, at least they should stay longer. We can all agree on that.

To find out more about Jamie Stiehm, and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit www.creators.com.