Hello Spring

Hello, Spring! You come today in fog. I light the fire in the woodstove in your honor. It may be the last fire, not because we trust you to warm us up but because we are running out of wood.

The ground aches for you. The Earth is tired of its brown dress. 

The Africans in church yesterday were excited because you are coming. It is not just warmth they long for; it is color. You have no idea, Spring, what kind of color they would really like to see because you do not visit Africa. It would blow your mind, Spring, those vibrant oranges and purples and golds. I would like to take you on a walk through an African market and show you what is possible. They do not make up the colors in their cloth, they pull them right off the flowers and the birds and the rich, green forests.

But you are a North American Beech-Maple Spring and you dare not imagine splashes and swaths of primary color. That is not your goal. And I appreciate your subtlety. The fog today is a nice touch. Last night you covered the full moon with clouds to announce your approach with appropriate delicacy.

In my impatience I plant my own spring but it is not the same as the one you’ve planned. My snowdrops hang their little white heads among the brown leaves. They are lonely. My daffodils are poking up green shoots but by the time they uncase their bright trumpets you will have laid out your finest lace from doorstep to the depths of the woods. Daffodils will be nice but you will not need them for your display. They are for me, to satisfy my flower greed. I will pick them and bring them inside and feel wealthy.

I know where you will start. On the western slope of the woods, just above the neighbors’ snowmobile path, you keep a hepatica garden. It is off our beaten path so it was your secret for a long time. But our friends do not stay on paths. One of them happened on your little patch, white-to-pink-to-purple flowers nodding on fuzzy stems when all the other flowers are just green thoughts. Now our path has a hepatica loop. I will walk it today just to check but I know it is too soon. 

And then it will be bloodroot, clustered here and there, showy but still spotty. 

But after that, you will take a deep breath and blow a fog of pink and white and yellow and green low over last year’s brown leaves until they have disappeared entirely. Cutleaf toothwort, spring beauties, trout lilies, dutchman’s breeches, rue anemone--so thick they hide even the hepatica who stay around for the show.

I hope you will wear the lace for Easter.