Spring Fever
I am getting spring fever just as surely as I am sitting in a resin chair by my garden on a 68-degree March day in Chicago.
Around me the green stalks are swollen, pregnant with buds just waiting for a few more days of warmth and sun until they will reveal
their cheerful yellow faces.
Two and a half crocuses remain after their premature entrance last week. A two-inch overnight snow was their demise, and even though it was gone as quickly as it had accumulated, the new growth was lost.
Their brief sojourn, though, clearly sent the message: “Winter is passing and spring is coming. Soon all things will be new and the hidden underground growth through the dark winter days will be evident.
The optimism of new life will defeat the despair of winter.”
My shoes are sitting next to me and I feel the matted greening grass under my happily unshod feet.
Spring is coming! Spring is coming!
The winter has been cold and dark with biting winds, and the ground frozen and impenetrable. I have huddled into myself, attempting to keep the fire of life glowing and protected from these winds that have blown, not caring their effect.
Enough now of wind and storm, the sun is come with warmth and light and bids me do as my plants: to stretch up toward heaven, to drink deeply of spring rains and with this nourishment grow and green until I too am pregnant again with hope, and then to bloom forth with new life.
Around me the green stalks are swollen, pregnant with buds just waiting for a few more days of warmth and sun until they will reveal
their cheerful yellow faces.
Two and a half crocuses remain after their premature entrance last week. A two-inch overnight snow was their demise, and even though it was gone as quickly as it had accumulated, the new growth was lost.
Their brief sojourn, though, clearly sent the message: “Winter is passing and spring is coming. Soon all things will be new and the hidden underground growth through the dark winter days will be evident.
The optimism of new life will defeat the despair of winter.”
My shoes are sitting next to me and I feel the matted greening grass under my happily unshod feet.
Spring is coming! Spring is coming!
The winter has been cold and dark with biting winds, and the ground frozen and impenetrable. I have huddled into myself, attempting to keep the fire of life glowing and protected from these winds that have blown, not caring their effect.
Enough now of wind and storm, the sun is come with warmth and light and bids me do as my plants: to stretch up toward heaven, to drink deeply of spring rains and with this nourishment grow and green until I too am pregnant again with hope, and then to bloom forth with new life.
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