Spring is in the very process of springing. She is rubbing her eyes, yawning, contemplating whether or not she should leap out of bed yet.
And with Spring on her way there is a spring in my step. And as I sprung around my neighborhood this afternoon, my ears were filled with the sweet tweet of birds, their feathers speckled in the dappled shade, beaks ajar, shaking with the vibrations of their vocal cords. The crunch of gravel was under foot, my finger ran along a ridged fence and the dry leaves crackled, almost bronze in the light cast by that yellow orb that is always welcome in this part of town. I felt happy, eager for flip-flops and ice-cold beverages, for deck chairs and sunglasses. For the joy that is the summer dress.
I heard these carefree birds singing and it made me think of this: ‘Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?’ – Matthew 6:26
The birds don’t panic. And the only flapping they do results in flight. They can see the bigger picture up there, like somebody else I know. Maybe that’s why they sing all day, because they can see where their next meal is coming from and where they’re headed. Rejoicing even in the bitter cold of the Winter.
Who needs money? Maybe it’s better that I can’t see what’s coming, maybe it will be more wonderful that way. A surprise. And as long as there are flowers in the ground and birds in sky, I’ll keep dreaming.
Spring is Hope. Personified. It is a promise concealed in a bud, an elongated shadow on grey concrete, a fragrant whisper hanging onto the wind; mingled with a breeze that tickles your hairline. It’s a season of rebirth, growth and things blossoming. I have a feeling that as the lambs are born, as the daffodils bloom, my life might start to flower and blossom into something. Something delightful.
‘Everything will be all right in the end… if it’s not all right then it’s not yet the end.’ – The Best Marigold Hotel