With wide-open windows comes waking with birdsong. O, the sweet chattery tunes of spring birds in the country and it’s easy to lie in bed and let the morning progress without getting up. Who needs to get out of bed? I suppose I do.
The sun is just now breaking through the trees, the yard is glowing warm and twinkly with dew. The crab apple is about to burst in flower. Wisteria buds hang heavy on the vine. Tulip poplars are light green and the maples are red. Spring arrives full force now and soon I’ll see the May Apples open their umbrellas and the ferns unfurl their feathers. Hostas are poking through the mulch like determined red soldiers. The daffodils are holding steady. There’s no turning back now.
What does it all mean? I wish I could stay philosophical and expound about the timelessness of spring and how nature’s rebirth is in essence our own rebirth and how I am always filled with a sense of wonder and awe and thankfulness at this time of year—but I’m not able to stay in that head-space for long before I’m overwhelmed with the fact that I’ve got more work to do in the yard than I have time to do it.
Morning was simpler when all there was was birdsong.