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Spring Offers Variety of Splendor
I'm in a mellow mood after watching the rosy fingers of the dawn - as Homer called them. Spring is a seducer who beckons me away from my to-do list and computer. "Come out!" she whispers. "Come out to the scent of flowers, birdsong, and the sunrise's palette.
Winter is the time for hearty stews, cozy cocooning and long novels. Spring brings delicate fresh asparagus, the shedding of heavy clothing and poetry. All of us can be enriched by the quest for beauty.
With the coming of Spring, I remember King Solomon's beautiful words that even the great Shakespeare could not surpass. We cannot have too much poetry in our lives.
"Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away.
For, lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone;
The flowers appear on the earth;
The time of the singing of birds is come;
and the voice of the turtle (dove?) is heard throughout the land."
After the sleep of winter, sap rises in the trees, and springtime brings the imperative to push out of the dark earth and unfurl petals in the sunshine. I, too, feel a loosening within me as I lift my face towards the sun.
Spring unfolds so quickly that I fancy that if my eyes were as acute as some of those high-powered cameras, I could see the shoots of plants move as they stretch towards the light. Vivid blue scylla carpets lawns; daffodils nod in the breeze; and our sweet-scented hyacinths and crocuses are blooming. I brought in a vase of silky pussy willow catkins. There are 15 tiny bloodroots with yellow and white blossoms started from the bloodroot that Mother and I found in a woods 60 years ago. The magnolia has fat buds.
A pair of robins is busy at first light out in back where we saw a flicker using its long, slender beak to prospect for ants in the lawn. At twilight last night, I stood for a tranquil moment, listening to their muted evensong as they settled for the night, "Cherup, cheroop - cherup, cheroop."
Have you noticed that they sing a different song when it's going to rain?
I heard a red-winged blackbird's "Creeee." The cardinals' call has changed from their earlier "Wheat, wheat, wheat!" to a gladsome "Cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer, cheer!" Then I heard one shout, "Pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty, pretty!" as if in praising a lady bird that it was courting. I wonder what their different calls signify.
Just as we humans have stubborn quirks so, too, do other beings. We chuckled about a news item about a swan that's in love with a swan-shaped paddleboat. Park employees introduced it to a real swan, thinking to give it a mate. It refused to accept the intended bridegroom, and they finally gave up and let it go back to swimming alongside the boat. The Vrabels were irritated by a bird that pecked at the kitchen window all day long. Ducks insist on laying eggs on the concrete next to John and Jana's swimming pool.
Yesterday afternoon, we went out to the collapsible, screened gazebo that we bought last summer and enjoyed the backyard peace away from the telephone, chatting quietly and savoring a glass of champagne. Some might wonder why we don't take a telephone out with us. People even wear their cell phones on their bodies, set to vibrate if that all-important call comes in, or wear a device in their ears just as Ray Bradbury foresaw in Fahrenheit 451.
We've become communication junkies, having to be in incessant touch with someone - anyone! - as if we need validation that we're alive. When they installed the telegraph, Thoreau wondered if Maine and Texas had anything of import to say to one another. Amen!
I'm dreadfully dated and out-of-touch. But, you see, I don't want to be constantly in touch with various and sundry, nor even my nearest and dearest. I want to be free to explore the streams and oceans of my being and open new channels of thought, as Thoreau put it. I want to let my mind roam, listen to my internal monologue to discern what my innermost being says, and continue the dialogue with Bill that's been going on for over 40 years. I want to muse upon the beauty of the Song of Solomon and try to discern the meaning of the Cardinal's various calls.
Bother! So much for my springtime rhapsodizing. Cold weather is coming just in time to blight the magnolias.
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