Stripes. Or veins. HOW is this possible? It seems amazing to me that something so tiny could be so precise in its details.
I think I love the springtime more every year. I remember liking the warm weather as a little kid, but I don't remember feeling the overwhelming gratitude and relief that I feel now as we near the end of winter. I wonder why? Maybe as a kid the months seem so long that there is no point anticipating the next season; whereas as an adult I've learned how fast time can go, so I look ahead more than I used to? Or perhaps when I had a child's boundless imagination I didn't feel as constrained by the four walls of the house as I do as a boring adult? Or maybe I have more of a feeling of ownership now that I'm the one in charge of planting the bulbs and the flowers, and I like that?
Well, whatever the reason, I LOVE the warm weather! We've been spending as much time outside as we can, including but not limited to eating our lunches, doing homework, feeding babies, hanging laundry (hooray! no more trying to fit everything on the drying rack inside!), tidying up the garden beds (how I love to see the bulbs sprouting!), and watching the lettuce seeds sprout. (They are volunteers from last years' crop. I don't know if they will grow perfectly, but they are darling---tiny little shoots as small as rice grains, but already with the shape of their mature selves.)
My own crocuses--so sweet!
Not my own, but beautiful
Spiderman deliberates about what delectable morsel to eat next
Even Daisy seemed quietly pleased about being out in the sunshine, and valiantly tried to eat some grass and bark. Also---that urgency I talked about? It often leaves me for awhile when I'm outside. I don't know if it's the warmth of the sun, or the fact that I can't hear the phone, or what, but it's so peaceful and nice.
*From Emily Dickinson's poem:
"A light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period---
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step,
Or Noons report away,
Without the Formula of sound,
It Passes and we stay---
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament."
*From Emily Dickinson's poem:
"A light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period---
When March is scarcely here
A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.
It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.
Then as Horizons step,
Or Noons report away,
Without the Formula of sound,
It Passes and we stay---
A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament."
I still haven't been outside. Maybe I'll find an excuse to walk to the bank today or something like that.
ReplyDeleteLovely Marilyn! The poem, the photos, everything. I'm very envious of you and your crocuses. We're not there yet. Not even close. But we'll be there soon I hope! We have some sun this week and it's such a welcome thing. It just changes everything about the day and the week.
ReplyDeleteFirst, come up our snowdrops. White segmented umbrellas that hide green under, applied with broad brush.
ReplyDeleteSecond, crocus: first white. Then yellow. Then, after those have faded, purple. Then purple striped.
Surprised, every year. This year, have defended daffodils and tips of tulip from monsters and hob-nailed boots, only to end up stepping on one myself.
Hard to see the spring when you are tearing up the past.
But I know it when I feel it on my face.