We’ve had four days of sunshine IN A ROW, the absolute record for the entire spring. My Vitamin D production skyrocketing, and all things natural are moving at mach speed.
The birds are an unceasing riot of chirping and chasing. The tree frogs by the pond are gloriously loud, their noise level totally out of proportion to their size. The largest member of the red fox gang trotted brazenly down the paved street this morning, his coat sparkling in the light. The striped ground squirrels dragged their patio furniture onto the sidewalk and are sipping from tall glasses decked out with tiny umbrellas.
Hiram is running behind the mower, trying to keep ahead of the grass. The weeds have already conquered my flowerbeds. The lilac bushes are a mass of purple. They smell so heavenly I’m tempted to throw allergy cautions to the wind and inhale the heady perfume by the hour. The honeysuckle and purple columbine are blooming, the peony and daisy buds are swelling, the coral bells are tinkling in time with the breeze, the iris petals are straining against their green straight jackets.
Some parts of spring are already history. The daffodils are long gone, the magnolias a memory, with the tulips fading fast. Our neighbor’s sour cherry tree was a spectacular cloud of white blossoms last week, so sweet and full of promise I braved the rain and took its picture. A day or two later, the blooms had melted like snow. The blossoms on the plum tree across the road and to the west melted away, too. Though not until after they had perfumed my path during several damp and chilly morning walks.
Spring is moving so fast, I don’t want to close my eyes at night. I wake with the sun and jump out of bed, eager to discover what happened while I lazed in bed. What beauty did I miss? What splash of color went unnoticed in the darkness? What miracle of life awaits the awe and honor it deserves? What possibilities wait, quivering with excitement? What joy needs celebrating? I can barely keep up with this furious unfolding of new life during these days of rare sunshine and warmth.
Each morning I plead and beg with this swiftly moving time of year.
Slow down, spring.
You move too fast.
I want to make this season last.
She never listens, but I keep asking.
I want to make my favorite season last.
