I had a new post yesterday, but removed it when I realized all the photos were the wrong ones. And I had no desire to begin again.
But today is another day. A sunny day, though a good thirty degrees colder than yesterday. I had decided, sadly, that March had come in like a lamb yesterday.
I am ready for spring. Most years my witch hazel would be blooming. February is its month to bloom, but as I look out the window I see big buds, but no raggedy flowers yet.
And every day I see photos of spring flowers on some of the European blogs I read, violets clustered around the base of trees, primroses making their world more sunny and fragrant, hyacinth and snowdrops. And I can buy them at the florists or grocery store, even now. A friend had a beautiful bouquet of cheerful daffodils for St. David’s Day. Not a surprise, really. Her husband’s family is from Wales.
But sad to say, our March was positively lamb-like yesterday and that means it will go out like a lion. I imagine this year will be the sort when we have some serious snow storms in April. But spring will come! Yes, it will! And I will be so filled with happiness when it does. Not that I ever react to spring with anything like indifference. It is always a miracle. No other season is met with such joy. The glories of autumn are shadowed by what we know lies ahead, and so is the first snowfall. But lovely spring is the entire world come back to life, mine at least, and I do not share Edna St. Vincent Millay’s disdain for it.
By Edna St. Vincent Millay
To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down this hill,
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.
When I was young and in the springtime of my own life, I thought this dramatic bit of pessimism full of power and truth. But now that I myself am on a downhill slope which does not lead to April, I love the coming of Spring and the cycle of life!
But in the meantime, we will dwell with lions for a while to come. Might as well make friends with them as best we can. And think of them as ornaments on the door to Spring.