Sing A Song Of Spring
Come, fill the Cup, and in the Fire of Spring
The Winter Garment of Repentance fling:
The Bird of Time has but a little way
To fly – and Lo! The Bird is on the Wing.
-- (The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam)
It was a perfectly lovely day and a perfectly lovely evening. The kind of day we often wish would last year-round, but know we would be bored if it did. We need the contrast of the seasons, just as much as we need the contrast of these black letters on the white background. Without the cold winter or the hot summer, spring would be common.
Trees are budding, with that faint green of new life which, inevitably, will be come the darker color of older leaves. It’s almost as if the light green is the tree’s imitation of the New Year’s baby, all fresh and ready to take on the world. Soon enough, fall will come and the leaves will wither and fall. But that’s many months from now.
I suppose, in the woods on each side of this valley city, animals are being born in time to take advantage of the good weather and grow up before the season changes after the fall. We don’t have that problem; people propagate any old time of the year and the babies are pampered inside the house, only to emerge in the spring.