|Daffodils in front of our porch|
Spring creeps slowly into our mountain valley. This morning the clouds shield us from the sun, and winds buffet the vanilla-scented Jeffrey pines that surround our mountain cabin home. Rain is forecast, and the memory of basking in the sun while reading and writing in a beach chair on the front lawn Wednesday seems unreal. The house carries the chill of last night's cold this morning, and I reach for a second cardigan with a shiver.
But our town's main street is flanked with cheerful daffodil banners, and the flowers themselves wave happily each time a car passes. Despite the fact that we receive the vast majority of our snow in March (and did this year as well), March still heralds spring as minuscule buds form on the branches of our Pippin tree and pale blooms emerge on the young peach tree, which we hope will fruit for the first time. I inspect the lilac bushes and am heartened by the greenish-brown buds forming, a promise of fragrant white boughs to come.
And so with spring in the air despite the storm marching its way up the mountain, I thought I'd post a couple of spring poems for your enjoyment.
This one appeared in my inbox this morning, a daily offering from Academy of American Poets:
The Enkindled SpringAnd, of course, my favorite spring poem of all time, written by my favorite poet of all time:
by D. H. Lawrence
This spring as it comes bursts up in bonfires green,
Wild puffing of emerald trees, and flame-filled bushes,
Thorn-blossom lifting in wreaths of smoke between
Where the wood fumes up and the watery, flickering rushes.
I am amazed at this spring, this conflagration
Of green fires lit on the soil of the earth, this blaze
Of growing, and sparks that puff in wild gyration,
Faces of people streaming across my gaze.
And I, what fountain of fire am I among
This leaping combustion of spring? My spirit is tossed
About like a shadow buffeted in the throng
Of flames, ashadow that's gone astray, and is lost.
in Just-So I bid you all a happy spring, whether the actual conditions agree with the month of March...or not. And please feel free to share your favorite spring poems in the comments section. We can always use more spring!!
by e.e. cummings (1894-1962)
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
when the world is puddle-wonderful
old baloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and