Two birds conspire out my window. The result is a duet that in my just-waking fog I could swear was both funny and sung only for me.
The cascading waterfall across the street, I’m pretty sure, is in on it.
The daffodils - this is a town of daffodils - which I look forward to each year because this is also a town of old stone walls, and daffodils in front of old stone walls is a kind of visual perfection - are in attendance.
None of these things, the waterfall, the daffodils, stonewalls or even bird songs will capture headlines; and maybe not even be noticed by many people. Which is really too bad, particularly given morning light in the spring and how it acts as a kind of visible grace moving across the houses and land, transforming everything it touches. Without exaggeration I can’t not see it, some mornings, as anything but beams of love determined to brush each and every nook of the world.
If I were writing the headlines for today - world wide - I would not abuse that powerful position (Worldwide Headline Writer) by speaking of war, or inflation, mandates or lying politicians.
Yes these things are facts of life right now and they can not be ignored, (or CAN they?) but the world could use a break from them.
We’re a full month into spring - in this part of the world - which has barely received any coverage at all, despite its significance and universally loved appeal.
It’s spring (no exclamation please) and here in New England humans dial the excitement back. The forsythias are designated the role of spring-welcomer and they never disappoint - silently announcing its arrival in bold, almost neon-like branches of yellow that jump out at you in a wild frenzy. (Unless of course someone manicured them into hedges pre-flowering (please don’t) dampening the effect considerably.)
Lovely crazy forsythia. An excellent welcomer of an unpredictable season.
We must curb our enthusiasm, knowing it still might snow, spit ice or plunge back into sub-freezing temperatures. This is really where the stoicism of New Englanders comes from. Their battles with Mother Nature. Or more precisely, they're defeat.
You don’t want to tempt the weather gods by showing glee. God forbid. Even after acknowledging a warm lovely day, you do so with a joke - which is always on us - about how it might change in five minutes - this is the ritual of humbling ourselves in front of Mother Nature so as to keep her on our side. She’s fickle though, so it works and then it doesn’t.
I know there are entities out there who mess with the natural weather. But we’re not going to talk about that today. I’m sure they don’t have the slightest idea how idiotic it is to do that - geo-engineer the planet’s skies - and they will no doubt learn their lesson eventually.
Today it’s about spring, now a third of the way through its season. I might even consider (with humility) adding more flowers to the window boxes - besides pansies whose name is used ironically to describe less than manly men, considering how strong, durable and resilient they are.
Tulips will come soon. The 12 I’ve planted in my stone semi-circle garden bed show only one viable flower. The deer that come in some years to the neighborhood were greedy in their grazing this year and have left me only one. Oh, well, no matter, I will delight even more in its display of yellow with coral strips that nicely match my ancient house.
There is still much to look forward to this spring in blossoms and lighting, in warmth and the endless variety of greens that turn up as the trees leaf-out. Spring is an exciting time.
As I write, the birds are subduing their calls, their job of singing in the morning, almost done. The sounds of cars now eclipse them as humans begin their daily routines. It’s so easy to miss the miracles of nature that perpetually surround us.
A new day. I guess I’ll get going with my routines too. I’m grateful I didn’t miss the sunrise, the lighting, the sounds of the waterfall and those funny, conspiring birds.
Spring in New England. A big story. Though something tells me that should I check my Bitchute channels, no one will be reporting on it.
Autumn here, but the sentiment remains absolutely valued and appreciated - thanks for the reminder.
Thank you for this healing shot of poetic beauty, Kathleen!
It reminds me of Mary Oliver’s “Spring” (https://www.best-poems.net/mary_oliver/spring.html) and makes me miss her even more 😿