Just Last Spring

Photo taken last April 2014.

Almost everyone waits eagerly for spring unless you are too young for that sudden pastel warmth of a spring morning with birdsong to have made an impression on your memory.  Eventually spring imprints on us all,  and we cannot drink enough of it into our soul to satiate our emptiness drained by tolerating a long, gray and white winter.

Spring taps us on the shoulder and immediately gets our attention, gets our full-eyed study.  We stop in our tracks dropping that project, that book, that conversation and inhale the fragrant air of earth and blossom. We remember all those firsts; first walk, first bike ride, first poem, first kiss, first love, and even first bee sting!  It has a power that nothing else seems to possess reminding us to live in the moment.   We can pretend that we are young and beautiful and still have lots of memories to make for just a short while.  We can put purpose on the shelf and pick up pleasure.

We see things as if almost for the first time.  Is it that crystal crisp light that bathes every nook and corner?  We are not just remembering but actually being in that moment.  Our skin is sensitive to the breeze, our eyes are sensitive to the lime colors of baby leaves, our nose recognizes the rich brown smell of earth after the rain, and even our ears hear a different bird song, one that is more joyful and full of hope and amorous adventures.  It as if we have yet to begin to experience our own life.  We are excited.

We elders push to the back of our minds the question of how many springs are yet ahead for us as we plant something, paint something, photograph something, kiss something and start living all over again.