My memories growing up of spring are filled with recollections of colorful flowers peeking out from their hiding places: yellow daffodils, purple hyacinths, red tulips, to name a few. I remember picking up their scent as well as the feel of fresh new air touching my face as I headed home, coat unbuttoned, from school. The sky of baby blue pushed away the gloom and happy white clouds punctuated it, amid the glow of a warm sun.
I’ve read scientific reports that claim hormones are more active in the spring, which I believe. Besides experiencing a greater love for my newly dressed world, I feel more friendly towards its inhabitants.
In my later years, my greatest joy in this season is to get my hands into the earth. Dirt, glorious dirt, feels like life. The joy of planting a vegetable garden comes later, but I recall starting seedlings in various containers early. Little green onion sprouts shooting up thrill my soul and give me hope for their later transplant into the ground. Cucumbers’ leggy parts don’t fare as well, but it blesses me to try different starts.
Baby animals are another sure-fire sign of spring. My city setting doesn’t preclude the sight of young offspring from quails, wild turkeys, squirrels, and assorted birds. They serve as evidence of our continuing cycle of life our Heavenly Father faithfully provides us and gives us hope in creation’s ongoing fulfilment. Life goes on, despite what the ultra- green folks say.
There is a smell of spring, almost indescribable. It’s clean, expectant and full of promise. I open the windows, crack the door, to invite the sunshine and air inside. Be gone, old stuffy, dry artificial atmosphere! I sit at the table with a cup of tea and gaze out at the day’s scene, noisy with other nature lovers, actively enjoying it.
Maybe I’ll plan my balcony garden €¦
No, I can’t stand it; I need to join them.
I grab a sweater and head for the door.
Thank you, Lord, for long-awaited spring.
Dianna
Sharing the Fruit of Maturity
