For some of us, it’s pretty hard to believe in the whole Spring Thing just now — at least it hasn’t snowed here in… what, two weeks now? And it hasn’t rained in two whole days. The sky is a bit of blue, behind the gauzy veil of high clouds and fog… it might be coming, but…
I’ve believed before, I have. And have been shocked by cold fronts that knocked the blossoms of the trees. And speaking of blossoms, where are they? Where are even the leaves!? I swear, fruit trees don’t bloom in this place until the end of May. It’s enough to drive a California girl crazy. Berrying season seems to be in September. What, then, is the point of spring at all?
A high of 56°F makes me ridiculously happy. I can hear birds. And eventually… at some point… more than just the hardiest of crocuses (crocusi?) and daffodils will burst forth. When the city is in bloom, it really tries hard to make up for the months and months of gray, mucky, ugly, yuck.
I’m in some doubt about when it’s coming, but… I’m willing to believe.
“The First Spring Day,” by Christina Rossetti.
I wonder if the sap is stirring yet,
If wintry birds are dreaming of a mate,
If frozen snowdrops feel as yet the sun
And crocus fires are kindling one by one:
Sing, robin, sing;
I still am sore in doubt concerning Spring.
I wonder if the springtide of this year
Will bring another Spring both lost and dear;
If heart and spirit will find out their Spring,
Or if the world alone will bud and sing:
Sing, hope, to me;
Sweet notes, my hope, soft notes for memory.
The sap will surely quicken soon or late,
The tardiest bird will twitter to a mate;
So Spring must dawn again with warmth and bloom,
Or in this world, or in the world to come:
Sing, voice of Spring,
Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.
Many poems are turned into classical songs. I’m kind of hoping this is one — I can imagine a gorgeous arrangement. The poetry Friday round-up is over at Elaine’s, at Wild Rose Reader. Enjoy this doubtful Spring day, wherever you are…
