And To My Listening Ear, All Nature Sings…

The First Spring Day

I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,

If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,

If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun

And crocus fires are kindling one by one:

    Sing, robin, sing;

I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.

I wonder if the springtide of this year

Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;

If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,

Or if the world alone will bud and sing:

    Sing, hope, to me;

Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.

The sap will surely quicken soon or late,

The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;

So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,

Or in this world, or in the world to come:

    Sing, voice of Spring,

Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.

        — Christina Rossetti

Neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet nor gloom of night shall stay the season from the swift completion of its appointed arrival. ‘Swift’ may seem like a matter of opinion, but for those of us thumped with hail and drenched with showers, it’s a matter of fervent hope.

Sunday we were dragged out of our usual contemplation and into the out of doors in search of hill down which to roll our eggs, and to our surprise it was A Good Thing. The pale green fuzz of leaves beginning to consider clothing the twigs which have supported them was a welcome sight, as were the thousands of daffodils along the banks of the river.

We returned home and were amused that we hadn’t actually taken pictures of the whole sweep of the landscape, but had concentrated on small things — tiny shrubs, the shape of rocks, the fur of moss, individual blossoms. Perhaps, after the monotony of cloud gray and mud brown, the smallest patches of color and light were the most arresting. Perhaps gratitude for the small can, for once, prevent us from taking the grander scale of blossoms and blue skies for granted. Perhaps, perhaps…

We may be in ‘sore doubt’ concerning Spring, but fortunately, it is not concerned with our faith or doubts. Constant as the cyclical tides, it advances, gradually loosening winter’s grimly determined grasp. The birds sing, the bees lay in wait for warmer winds, and as we pause, the world again takes up the rustle and hum of growing things.

Soggy and frigid though it may be, Spring has sprung. Cheers!

– D & T