Aching with the tight confines of winter life (translation: I’m sick of snow and wearing three sweaters,) I awoke to the sound of geese … flying North. I know it was North, because at 4:30 or so a.m., I got out of my warm bed and went outside in my pajamas and watched these trumpeters fly into the promise of spring. Sleep came easily again with the smile of spring on my mind and the fact that I have a comforter and a quilt on the bed. I dreamt of spring.
Spring is a promise, a beautiful gateway to things put off, things on lists for warmer weather and open windows. It’s no great wonder that peoples through time and space have celebrated the vernal return of life to the world. I’ve always thought about how hard it must have been for other local inhabitants of this place to make it through the long night of winter, living in bark-covered lodges, huddled around cooking fires, existing on that which they have preserved for winter sustenance and hunting. How joyous the sound of geese would have been to them, announcing that spring was coming. What a celebration that must have been!
There is a green that comes with spring that scintillates, an incandescent, gently effervescent green like no other. There are yellows, the early daffodils, the snow drops, the forsythia and the gentle pinks and riotous red of the climbing roses. The little white stars of the strawberry flowers and their climbing cousins, the raspberries, under perennials and in the hedgerows … and the violets, eponymous and not at all shy with their vibrancy.
There’s a scent in the air, of warming earth, scents of seduction for the flora and fauna to awake and grow, to fill in the empty spaces left by winter’s cold.
Open windows and soft breezes, a house freshened! Airing out comforters, drapes and winter trappings becomes possible. It’s a return to spontaneity. Leaving the house requires no preparation … no coat, no hat, no boots or gloves. Ice scrapers and snow brushes are put away. Your car’s original color returns, devoid of its overcoat of salt and road grime. Spring’s promise is a freedom that can’t be measured by standard yardsticks; it’s sunlight and warmth, the sound of lawn mowers and early morning birdsong.
It’s a time for drives out in the country, revisiting places abandoned to winter or roads we’ve never traveled … uncharted exploration not easily taken through drifts of snow. It’s a rebirth of exuberance for the feeling of life that Spring brings. It’s a time to repurpose, re-evaluate and revitalize our own potential.
What do we bring to this freshening?
Forget the dark days of New Year’s. Now is the time to resolve to awaken the best that we can be. It’s time to not only work in the garden but to work on how we can fit into the promise that the season brings.
Fly kites, visit the library, walk along the paths that skirt Nine Mile Creek in the park or take a leisurely walk around the village or the school campus, go to church, spend time in the greenhouses at Nightingale’s or Hillside Gardens. Plant flowers, sit on the porch with friends, cook outside, volunteer … take better care of yourself, write a letter. I’m going to try to be more gentle with the parts of me that fail and enjoy more those that still operate close to the designer’s plan (however few remain.)
I am so sick of the cold and snow but the geese remind me that, as the sap rises, spring comes, then summer and open toed shoes.
