No time of year presents a more certain dose of reality, or reminds us more strongly that nature does not abide by our timetable, than March. This morning, with warm thoughts and dreams of spring still in my head (despite needing the extra down quilt on my bed last night), I awoke to frozen pipes in the bathroom and Bernie's cable (with which we chain her outside) snapped completely in half from the cold. Apparently, much to my dismay, March has decided to forgo the "in like a lamb" scenario this year.
The Mad River still has patches of ice where the river seems only to be a little trickle of water left over from a late winter rainfall. Local weather reports still talk of wind chills, and the choicest logs from a recent truckload of wood are burning furiously in the wood stove. But living in the country, and with an open mind, one begins to notice the early heralds of spring around this time of year, assuring that, indeed, spring is just around the corner.
I love driving down State Route 287 through West Liberty, Ohio. Though it can be tricky to maneuver the hills and winding curves after a fresh snow, beauty is nonetheless lurking, even in winter. This stretch of road is a buffet for the eyes, at times wooded areas or fields and wide-open spaces, at times artistically spaced farmhouses—sometimes new and impeccable, sometimes in need of repair (and offering a certain beauty of their own). In autumn the trees here are especially bright and colorful and I find it hard to keep my eyes on the winding roads when driving. Even in winter after a new snow, the hills and valleys are lambent in the sun or moonlight, evidence of the simple shimmering purity which remains in nature. Depending on whether you're traveling through this area in mid-summer or early October, also on the menu are rows and rows of corn, alternating from emerald green to a deep coppery, almost incandescent glow in the shining sun. The daylillies and little clumps of multi-colored wild flowers in spring and summer are quite profuse, fragrant and especially lovely.
As in all of life, one thing you can always count on in nature is change, and while I don't like change, I always look forward to and am excited by the change of seasons. It signals a new beginning fertile with possibility, and adds a little spice to my routine. But I always seem to be caught off guard by one particular presentiment of spring, which, after living here for 20 years I should well expect: the bright red pails which suddenly appear in a large grove of maple trees on Route 287. They are a surprising and welcome burst of color in the otherwise dull gray-brown of winter's coup de grâce. It's time for maple syrup again, and all things warm and sweet. It's March, sweetest of months, flowing like syrup into our midst, allowing us to savor life's fullness once again.
Silent March
Though she may arrive
Silently, lamb-like
March cannot hide
Her bright red pails
Handily hung
Give her away,
Announce her arrival
With the pomp and ceremony
Of a royal entourage,
Signaling the time
For mapling once again
March, sweetest of months,
Flows like syrup into our midst
Allowing us to savor life’s fullness
No comments:
Post a Comment