Okay, so it’s not Spring.
But it’s not that far off.
We’re still in the midst of cold air, icy sidewalks, and shorter days. But have you noticed? The air smells a bit fresher. The light is lingering longer. And every once in a while, we are blessed with wonderfully warm days and bright sunshine that make us giddy with anticipation.
Spring is coming.
When these golden mid-winter days come, I love to fully take advantage of them. Open the windows. Clean out the car. Dry rugs outside in the sunshine. Take a big giant breath and let it out slowly, relaxing in the promise of longer days ahead. It’s good for the soul.
In the spirit of what lies ahead (and to give those of us boomers and beyond who still face several winter and spring snowstorms), here’s some thoughts from Alfred Lord Tennyson that might give you cheer:
Early Spring
by Alfred Lord Tennyson
Once more the Heavenly Power
Makes all things new,
And domes the red-plowed hills
With loving blue;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The throstles too.
Opens a door in Heaven;
From skies of glass
A Jacob’s ladder falls
On greening grass,
And o’er the mountain-walls
Young angels pass.
Before them fleets the shower,
And burst the buds,
And shine the level lands,
And flash the floods;
The stars are from their hands
Flung through the woods,
The woods with living airs
How softly fanned,
Light airs from where the deep,
All down the sand,
Is breathing in his sleep,
Heard by the land.
O, follow, leaping blood,
The season’s lure!
O heart, look down and up,
Serene, secure,
Warm as the crocus cup,
Like snow-drops, pure!
Past, Future glimpse and fade
Through some slight spell,
A gleam from yonder vale,
Some far blue fell;
And sympathies, how frail,
In sound and smell!
Till at thy chuckled note,
Thou twinkling bird,
The fairy fancies range,
And, lightly stirred,
Ring little bells of change
From word to word.
For now the Heavenly Power
Makes all things new,
And thaws the cold, and fills
The flower with dew;
The blackbirds have their wills,
The poets too.
“Patience is bitter, but its fruit is sweet.”
Aristotle
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