It’s all I have to bring today –
This, and my heart beside –
This, and my heart, and all the fields –
And all the meadows wide –
Be sure you countย should I forget
Some one the sum could tell –
This, and my heart, and all the Bees
Which in the Clover dwell.
Emily Dickinson
Spring has finally come to Humptulips County – and it waited so long to do so that it somewhat resembles Summer. The last two weeks have been beautiful and peaceful and now the temperature is hovering near a summery 80 degrees.
However, I know that it is still Spring since the fields are a vivid green and the light is still soft and embracing. The Summer’s sere tan and harsh light are yet to arrive, but I can now imagine that they well may do so in the fullness of time. Until now, the advent of Spring – much less that of Summer – has been in doubt. Until now, we have suffered from Demeter’s insecurities as she struggled to decide whether to prolong the wetness of our misery or to re-introduce us to the joy of the sun.
The sun’s warmth always seems to invigorate the soul by opening up the mysteries of the Earth to our senses. This is a time of year to pay attention to Earth’s simpler adornments: the allure of shadows on new mown grass; the vigor of life in the rank grass alongside a country lane; the singular joy of flowers wherever they may grow; the enticement of birdsong full of clearly stated – but unknowable and mysterious – messages; the distant voices of dogs barking at nothing more than the wind or their premonitions; and the ever-present, gentle voice of life, whether expressed by the soughing grass or the susurration of water in all its manifestations.
I may well have omitted something that belongs on your list of things to appreciate each Spring, but, as Miss Dickinson advises, do your own counting in your own way. After all, Spring is nothing more than the celebration of things individually small in scale but collectively enormous in portent.
