It is Spring again. The earth is like a child that knows poems by heart. Rainer Maria Rilke

Happy Sunday! Please enjoy this guest post by my always poetically prolific sister.

Photo Credit: Mr. Smith

Secret signs of Spring

How do we say goodbye to this long cold sad winter and discover the small signs of the anticipated return of warmer days? It has been a particularly gloomy winter of illness, death, isolation and depression. We long for a change.

This March morning, I am drawn to the soft yellow light streaming through the winter filmed window panes. The warmth pulls me closer reminding my tired old carcass of the approaching season. I so long to drop this winter cloak, so each recent bright green spike pushing up in the front door garden gladdens my fancy.  My wild birds are gorging themselves at the feeder then diving into the corner hedge to busily construct new nests. Early purple and white crocuses have emerged under the trees and pots of sunny jonquils appear near the apples at the market.  My old maple trees are covered in crimson leaf pods.  School bound teenagers are trading their overstuffed puffy coats to colorful thinner team jackets. Scarfs and mittens are tucked away until next fall.  One rugged townsman even arrived at the bank sporting his favorite plaid shorts.  I know it may snow again…spring is like that. It teases us before finally accepting our RSVP. 

But flirt that she is, I still love Spring, Primavera in Spain, Printemps in France, and Frühling in Germany.  Hope is the raison d’étre for spring, the anticipation of the new, the promise of a do over. This year I’ll finally get at that garden, I’ll paint that wall or have a long overdue purging of stuff. Garage sales will abound. We feel the constraints of the lockdown loosening and we can stretch out our arms and do. It helps to have received those long-awaited shots in the arm and a lowering infection rate. Sadly, the scourge of COVID continues but hopefully waning as we all yearn for signs of normalcy.  

Clearly this old woman is excited that April then May will arrive in weeks not months. I’m pumped.  I can hear my Irish grandmother in my head saying that if I start packing away the wool sweaters that will only invite old man winter to return with some late snowy prank. I know grandma, but I’m just eager to lay out the welcome mat for Lady Spring.


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