Spring

by

Brenda Walker

‘Spring‘  - You are not my most favourite of seasons.    

I much prefer the cosy contemplation which winter affords; or the full-on assault of sun and floral blowsiness that comes with summertime and, most of all, the still, calm, mellow fruitfulness of autumn.  Perhaps its because I’m aging but compared to any of these, I find You demanding, capricious and unpredictable.

Yes, You  certainly are the season that wakes everything up!     Your brassy trumpet loudly urges - get going, rise and  shine!   Coming ready or not and don’t count on my staying, I could be gone tomorrow!

On the positive side, You  bring longer days of sunlight, earlier dawns, later sunsets.   Your freshness is in the air, on the breeze.  And, best of all, are your friends the birds.   Blackbird on his highest perch singing me into consciousness, bellbirds,  grey warblers, finches, even sparrows can all be heard in the fresh dawn chorus making my heart sing.   And the bird which represents You most of all for me, is the skylark.   How they fascinate me with their chirruping on the wing and sudden death defying dives.  I could be tempted to watch them all day long but this is not what You  facilitate.

When I spy the birds darting back and forth with nesting material in their beaks, 

I know I should be about the annual task of spring cleaning.   Clutter needs clearing out, curtains need laundering, carpets need attention.   Simultaneously, the weeds are mocking me with their amazing ability to multiply hour by hour. Where will I work?  inside or out?   
Your sunshine draws me into the garden and I prepare by finding my wellies, hat, gard’ning gloves and tools.  Oh and where’s the sun-cream?  No sooner am I appropriately clad and down on my knees precariously balanced on the rock garden, when - Help !  You  drench me with an unexpected downpour and I scuttle back inside like a beetle scurrying under its rock! 

Well, Spring, your vibrancy takes my breath away,  You  are at no ones beck and call and will never be tamed.  How carefully must we protect our tender shoots from your changeability.   You delight us and shock us, You allow us to believe that you’re with us and then, like a will o’ the wisp, you’ve vanished, leaving usa nippy frost or heartless wind! If I had to choose only one way to describe You, it would be this little poem (from where I do not recall):

          First the rain came down to soak us

          then the sun came out to stoke us

          and before our eye can focus

                ………..CROCUS !

For me, this speaks of your variability, fragility and fleeting beauty which alone belong to your season of Spring.