In two days time it will officially be spring. It’s been trying to get here for the past few weeks. The mock plum trees have been waving their gorgeous pink-blossomed branches at me for some time now. Daffodils have resurfaced after spending time in the Underworld. Birds have even begun collecting twigs and little scraps of used tissues (which have accidentally dropped out of my sleeve, while I was in the garden), ready for nest building. Once more, a mouse (or most likely – mice) has decided to invade the house. And, yes, it’ll soon be “wear a helmet in the park” time as, once again, it’s magpie swooping season.
I love spring. It’s nature’s way of giving everything a fresh start. I delight in finding new buds and shoots on the plants. By the look of things our red bottle-brush tree is going to be aflame with flowers this year. I love seeing the birds busy building, tweaking, fiddling and fussing over their nests, before the chicks finally hatch.
My favourite poem about spring:
Spring has sprung; the grass is riz. I wonder where dem birdies is?
The little bird is on the wing. Don’t be absurd; the little wing is on the bird.
Deep, isn’t it?
When I was in school – back when it was still legal to own a dinosaur – we were taught a bit of doggerel by Wordsworth: something…something…a host of golden daffodils. (Hang on, I’ll ask Dr Google for the correct quote.) Here we go:-
I wandered lonely as a cloud, that floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd, a host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees, fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Yeah, it’s all right but I prefer my first choice. “Spring has sprung” seems more ‘earthy’, more ‘nuts and bolts’, more ‘real’, more geared for the ordinary person, like me.
One of the things I really love about where I live, is that we get all four seasons. We get to witness the great cycle of life: summer into autumn, autumn into winter, winter into spring… (You get the idea.) I’ve always felt a bit sorry for the inhabitants in the north of Oz. When my sister, Ali, lived in Darwin, she discovered there were only two seasons: the dry and the wet. I find that deeply disturbing. How does a person feel the rhythm of the universe when there are no seasons? How do the birds know when to start building? “Oh look, darling, it’s raining. It must be breeding season. Then again, maybe it’s just a passing shower?” It’s enough to do one’s head in.
It’s still cold here, at the moment, but in two days time the wind from the Antarctic has to shove off. The skies are already blue more often than grey. I’m really looking forward to a bit of solar warmth making its way through the cumuli. (In case you’re not meteorologically inclined, they’re the fluffy white clouds.)
Yes, apart from the rodents pooing all over my house and the magpies trying to peck a hole in my cranium (to protect their babies from me, even tho’ I tell ’em every year, I think their babies are adorable), spring is a fabulous time of the year.
What do you like about spring – assuming you get spring where you live? (If you don’t, you have my deepest condolences.)
I agree with the sentiments Wendy. It’s well and truly time to bid a not-so-fond farewell to the chills of winter. My arthritis has been playing bobsy-di for months now. And can we take it from this post that poetry is NOT your strong point, Wendy?
I don’t know what you mean, Trevor! I thought, the fact that I actually know (or know of) at least two poems, made me an aficionado of poetry. 😉
As for good old Arthur Itis, he can go take a running jump, too. I’ve had a lot more pain than usual this winter, so I’m looking forward to a bit of warmer weather. (But, not hot!)