Oh, Spring, When Will You Have Sprung?

The whole reason for this post is to show this pic from the basket on our front door-those are eggs of our resident purple finches from last year!

This time of year puts me in the mood for good poetry (Emily Dickinson, any one?). It's because I'm a California girl at heart (read: I must have sunshine year 'round) who lives in the Midwest (read: I do not have sunshine year round). When spring comes, it's like a happy surprise. Yeah, I know it's promised every year (no, not by a groundhog, by Someone a little bigger and more reliable). But when things are gray, cold, and bleak…and I look outside and it looks like that out there, too spring feels a long time coming.

Of course, I understand the beauty of winter…all buds and roots tucked in and doing their most active–though invisible–good work, without which there wouldn't be the glory of spring. But for someone steeped in metaphor and making a living at it, I still forget what's going on despite appearances. Here's the cool thing about that though, even if I'm shaking my fists at winter, spring still comes. Annnnnd…shaking my fists doesn't make spring come faster (this just in).

I get a little better at appreciating winter each time it rolls around. I know how it works, when I make peace with it, we'll move somewhere sunny! I just wanted to write, in case you're like me, and remind you that even though they are predicting yet another snow storm (um, yeah, it's April…), spring is on its way! If it's time to tuck in, then let's use this time like the plants and trees…let's use it to do our best growing,  foster our creativity, let our precious ideas be warmed and nurtured and held close, out of the sight of others, so when the spring comes, we can bust out and boldly show off our pretty glories for all to see as if it was no effort at all…

NEW feet within my garden go,

New fingers stir the sod;

A troubadour upon the elm

Betrays the solitude.

New children play upon the green,

New weary sleep below;

And still the pensive spring returns,

And still the punctual snow!

-LII from Part Two: Nature by Emily Dickinson