Out of the Sock Drawer
Because you asked...
Thoughts on Spring
Spring is an illusive moment, some tentative place between winter and summer.
Or so it seems to me, whose only experience of the classic four season year is the California variety that, for most years, includes a generous two week span of spring weather.
And this year is no different.
I will admit to some concern that I wouldn't see spring at all this year when January 1 saw me roasting at the beach. But when I caught sight of the first hint of green on the hillsides, I hardly dared breathe, for fear that the warm breath of air would turn it all brown again.
The baby blades of grass, nosing their way up along my path nearly made me stop walking, just so that I would not crush them. It is so hard to imagine that these gentle sprouts will grow to be the same wicked weeds that tore at my skirts only months ago.
And lo! The first glimpse of blossoms! Dare I stop to stroke one bud into bloom? If I turn my back, will it give up and wander to some other land that cultivates flower hunts and birdwatchers?
And so for two suspenseful weeks I watched spring come to my corner of the world.
But I think it's over now. I was back at the beach today and saw the spitting of whales as they swam north for the summer. The heart-dark blossom that stopped me in my tracks failed to stop someone else's and now it lies broken on the curb.
Do you think if I let the bunnies play together that it might stretch spring a little further?
Thoughts on Spring
Spring is an illusive moment, some tentative place between winter and summer.
Or so it seems to me, whose only experience of the classic four season year is the California variety that, for most years, includes a generous two week span of spring weather.
And this year is no different.
I will admit to some concern that I wouldn't see spring at all this year when January 1 saw me roasting at the beach. But when I caught sight of the first hint of green on the hillsides, I hardly dared breathe, for fear that the warm breath of air would turn it all brown again.
The baby blades of grass, nosing their way up along my path nearly made me stop walking, just so that I would not crush them. It is so hard to imagine that these gentle sprouts will grow to be the same wicked weeds that tore at my skirts only months ago.
And lo! The first glimpse of blossoms! Dare I stop to stroke one bud into bloom? If I turn my back, will it give up and wander to some other land that cultivates flower hunts and birdwatchers?
And so for two suspenseful weeks I watched spring come to my corner of the world.
But I think it's over now. I was back at the beach today and saw the spitting of whales as they swam north for the summer. The heart-dark blossom that stopped me in my tracks failed to stop someone else's and now it lies broken on the curb.
Do you think if I let the bunnies play together that it might stretch spring a little further?
Comments
"spring" in the Biola sense of the word anyway!
I always enjoy your posts.
Sylvia Biggs