The roofs are shining from the rain,
The sparrows twitter as they fly,
And with a windy April grace
The little clouds go by.
Yet the back yards are bare and brown
With only one unchanging tree–
I could not be so sure of Spring
Save that it sings in me.
– Sara Teasdale, “April”
Frogs plutter and squdge-and frogs beat the air with a recurring thin steel sliver of melody.
Crows go in fives and tens; they march their black feathers past a blue pool; they celebrate an old festival.
A spider is trying his webs, a pink bug sits on my hand washing his forelegs.
I might ask: Who are these people?
~Carl Sandburg from “Just Before April Came”
And so spring asks:
Who are these people?
Here we are, closing in on mid-April and it has been a week of heavily drifting snowstorms in the Great Lakes and northeast, tornado weather in the south, and blustering wind and rain in the northwest. I am not so sure of Spring nor is anyone else.
Yet it sings in me. Yes it sings.
The calendar does not lie, nor does my nose. The pollen counts are rising despite the rains and as I step outside in early dawn, I can catch the slightest fragrance of just-opening cherry and apple blossoms in the orchard. Within a week there will be sweet perfume in the air everywhere and the fruit trees become clothed in white puffy clouds of blossom before bursting full into green.
In defiance of the calendar, our oak trees cling stubbornly to their brown bedraggled fall leaves as if ashamed to ever appear naked, even for a week. In May they will go straight from brown to green without a moment of bare knobby branches.
Even so, it sings in me. Yes it sings.
A morning bird symphony tunes up ever earlier including the “scree” and chatter from bald eagles high up in the fir trees surrounding our house. Nesting has begun despite the wet and cold and wind because their nest is the secure home that calls them back, again and again, year after year.
Like them, it sings in me. Yes it sings.
I rise opening like a bud, I dress my nakedness to cover up my knobbiness, I wander about outside exulting in the free concert, I manage to do chores despite the distractions — this routine of mine which is so unchanging through the calendar days becomes glorious gift and privilege.
Hopefulness sings in me in Spring. Yes it sings.
3 thoughts on “It Sings in Me”
The signs, smells, sights, sounds — promises of renewal, re-creation, as new life springs up through the ancient earth, in the trees that surround us, in everything that is part of His Creation…:including our soul, our spirit, that reacts with hope and thanksgiving and gratitude for the newness that stirs around us…a blank page before us, second chances to make it all new again within us and in all that is part of our existence… reminders that His Promises, His Presence is never failing, eternal….
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Thank you for your inspiring and thoughtful posts. I so appreciate both words and images. Yesterday I led a group of women through a personal/professional development course at the University where I work. They had been doing a lot of interior work on values, goals, limiting beliefs etc and some felt quite raw by the end. I wanted to leave them with hopefulness, so had them close their eyes and just listen to the poems and your words before they left. You wrote, I read. Grace came into this most ‘business-like’ and secular of settings. It will bear fruit. Bless you x
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Patricia, you have made my day! Thanks so very much! Emily