At last! Spring is here! The air is alive with birdsong and the warm glow of the sun. The phoebes are back and are diligently working on their nests, a squirrel is chattering on the branch of an old oak, and a newly emerged chipmunk darts in and out of a stone wall like a beachgoer carefully dipping his toe to test the water. (Come on in! The water’s fine!) Everyone seems to be feeling a sense of energy and excitement.
I don’t know if it’s just my imagination, but even the bare branches and dried out remnants of last year’s growth seem cheerful today. The sweet fern with old leaves like curled up claws, the mountain laurel with the kernels of last year’s blossoms, the wild blueberries with tiny buds less than 3 mm long – they all seem filled with the potential of great things to come.
To me, there is no season that fills the senses as much as spring does. My soul is thirsty for the sight and fragrance of new growth. And when I listen to the music of nature’s song, I hear it, not simply with my ears, but with my whole heart. To quote Aldo Leopold, it is “a vast pulsing harmony – its notes the lives and deaths of plants and animals, its rhythms spanning the seconds and the centuries.” It is the music of the ages, and of life itself.