“Spring comes slowly and quietlyto allow Winter to withdrawslowly and quietly.”   –Thich Nhat Hanh, The Beauty of Spring Blocks My Way 

What a glorious spring we are having!   

Warm afternoons, honey golden sunshine lingering into the evenings, robin’s egg blue morning skies, trees popping with flowers of white, pink, purple and beige.  Big bumblebees buzzing about.  Calling cardinals cutely courting.  

The grays of winter dying off.  The greens of the vernal season playing dress up.  Farm ponds’ surfaces feel the toes of youth, the leg tips of the year’s first bug-lings, the fisherman’s worm-adorned hook.    

The smell of fresh cut grass rises and takes flight on the breezy air.  Tulips reach high and daffodils tilt forward, putting their best face front and center.  Birds become the new waking; their songs welcomed voices in the early blind-filtered light.  

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“Spirit is so mixed with the visible world that giver, gift, and beneficiary are one thing.”—Rumi, The Creek and the Stars  

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Kids riding bikes, couples walking, hikers, bikers, joggers, the ping of the Little Leaguer’s bat hitting ball, neighbor’s talking between yards.    

Bar-b-q, grilling on the back deck. Sitting on the front porch stoop wearing sleepy eyes with a cup of coffee in one hand and a cigarette in the other.   Sitting on the front porch stoop at the end of the day with grit and grime on both hands and a cold beer in one.    

Home gardens being worked over on the weekends.  Rhubarb already pushing up, big green leaves hiding the deep red/purple stalks.    

Farmers in the fields.  Dry and dusty, rains are needed.  April showers.  Turn over the soil, till it, disc it and lay out the rows.  Sow the seeds, measuring faith in the unseen.  The time of planting.   

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“To enrich the earth I have sowed clover and grass to grow and die.  I have plowed in the seedsof winter grains and of various legumes,their growth to be plowed in to enrich the earth.”   –Wendell Berry, Enriching the Earth  

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Going to the mountains.  Trails and forever to go.  Squirrels scatter and chipmunks chatter while the turkey runs up the ridge.  The stream churns cold over the sun-drenched rocks. 

Deer run wild, onyx orbs transfixed as the body leaps over bushes and small trees.   Fallen leaves warming.  Roasted pine needles.  The scent of forest.  Sitting down under the fledgling canopy, looking skyward…  

Laughing.  

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“With each empty day I am olderyet spring comes back each year.A bowl of wine is the only happiness.Why grieve over falling blossoms?”    –Wang Wei, Saying Goodbye to Spring   

(written 23 April 2006)

independent writer

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