the Earth’s rays
emerge like dawn,
I’ll be the first to admit that my favorite aspect of Spring is watching the trees bud out before the leaves return, the grass return to green, the people in my neighborhood coming out of their hidey-holes to putter around in the garden or the garage . . . it’s about watching the world come back to life, and looking forward to all the outdoor adventures that are made available thanks to warm weather.
This does, however, fly in the face of the trepidation I felt when I realized that the lilac growing right by our lamppost was already budding. I’m conflicted with the darn thing for so many reasons. Lilacs seem to grow like weeds over the course of a year, and they need to be kept in check — this one in particular because it stands right next to where the power transmission lines attach to the house form the pole, and every time the wind blows hard this Goliath-bush whacks the lines constantly. This does not make me comfortable.
I know I have to cut it back. Honestly, I’d rather cut it down but nobody will let me; between the angry squawks of the nesting robins and the near-universal protests that lilacs “are so pleasant” I have little room to reason. Still, I have to cut it back, and nothing gets done more slowly around here than something bordering on urgent.
That being said, the budding lilac is a sign that our world is emerging from the cold. If you’ve had it rough this year then rejoice, because if it’s not there it will soon be. Like the Sun breaking over the horizon, a wave is traveling over the surface of the planet, albeit in grand scale — and in its wake the planet will reach out once again to its hero: the bright, elusive star that keeps it warm at night. In unconscious imitation, we too will reach out to the world around us, and the Sun, to find the ends of those connections we have borne in our spirits through the long Winter: connections with Nature, and with each other.
Life has a tendency to run wild with its owner in its clutches. Don’t be that person.
Hopefully you have somewhere you can go that pulls your eye away from the trappings of civilized life. When you get a chance, go there and forget that you have other stuff; take time to reconnect. Put your skin on the ground. Take pictures. Pick up sticks and stones.
The picking up sticks and stones reminds me of playing pooh sticks in the spring when I was younger. Thrown them I into the river one side of of the bridge and whosever emerges first is the winner. It never crossed our minds that as they swirled in the water below that they may change position. Ah youth 🙂
That sounds like fun, though. 🙂
I love giving the talk about my walk. Every time, I’m back there on the Trace, picking up sticks and stones and all kinds of wonder.
I really liked the photos you would take of the Trace, especially the ones that focused on the bric-a-brac you would find there.
Funny you mention those. A book is coming out any day. 🙂
All hail and herald to Spring! I still wait with anticipation – it is slow – so very slow here – damn Arctic outflow! But, it will come. Patience is a virtue lacking in my cabin feverish mind and spirit.
Great post and haiku Grasshopper.
(don’t ask me why I called you Grasshopper – have no idea 😀 )
btw … it’s me, from the former LemonLimeFollies – and if you don’t believe it – as Juls – I’m writing as Mercy.James. or MJ – long long story ….
Well I was just thinking about you recently, Mercy. I’m glad to hear that you’re still out there kicking over the rocks!
Thanks Rob — kicking rocks, stubbing my toes, throwing tantrums of course, and then, sitting in the proverbial heap, muttering over my own foolishness. 😉
Actually, I’ve been off and out a lot – too many problems and too much pain, so I’m doing the catch-up thang.
Be well and see ya 🙂
[…] I’m pretty sure I can pay someone else to do that and not risk falling to my untimely demise. Cutting back the lilac by the lamppost? Well . . . it turns out Mme. Ross agrees that it doesn’t need to be so big. Next week, […]