What was I thinking?
Early Spring is subtle and its quiet splendors ask only that you look past the melting snow and dead grass and mud puddles to find beauty in the delicate green of a hellebore at your feet or the blushing red maples on the hillside. Every year, every Spring, I need to remind myself that Spring isn't really a season unto itself, but rather a collection of moments and, above all, a time of transition. A period of waiting and watching. The signs now are mostly small and easy to miss, but they're there.
"Once a day and sometimes more
I look out my day-dream door
To see if spring is out there yet
I'm really anxious, but mustn't fret.
I see the snow a melting down
and lots of mud and slush around
I know the grass will surely sprout
and birds and flowers will come about.
But why oh why does it take so long?
I'm sure the calendar can't be wrong.
Sunshine fills my heart with cheer
I wish that spring were really here."
- Edna T. Helberg, Longing for Spring
6 comments:
Oh Laura! How perfectly this post fits my frame of mind. I'm going to print the poem so that I can enjoy it and share it with others who share our longing.
A collection of moments... how very true. And then suddenly, you awake one morning, and everything has changed into new green life. It's coming... quietly and slowly, but it's coming.
Spring is here! It IS a collection of moments, and every moment brings a new miracle. Many birds have returned already, and insects are on the move. I was out and about yesterday and saw my first tree swallows and first butterflies. These transitions can be overwhelming because so much is in flux and ever turn in the path offers something new to see.
Beautiful poem, Laura. Thanks for introduce me to this poet! Beautiful photo, too!
Have a nice Sunday!
I feel this same way, Laura. We had a bit more snow last night, but thank goodness, it is nearly gone. Sometimes, I don't think spring will ever be here.
Lovely poem, the writer is one that I don't recognize.
I understand your feeling as you know I lived near you two winters ago. It was endless. I like that poem and can relate to it well. Think Spring, Laura. The season is inevitable.
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