Spring

Spring chickens--

Today is the first day of Spring. If poets, spiritualists, and lowly English majors are to be believed, then Spring is the season of life. And if Spring is indeed the season of life, then God is the greatest poet ever:

You know how some folks say that everything happens for a reason? I just can't believe that. Period. As far as I'm concerned, some stuff just happens. I'll spare you the details, but I'm convinced of it.

That said, I don't think that it's any accident that God gave my mom to the world on the this day, the first day of the season of life.

How lovely and fitting that her birthday falls on this day as a reminder of opportunity, of hope, and of new beginnings. This is a season to enjoy the freshness of life, the sweetness of flowers, and the awakening of the earth, because Spring is short. It will be over in a breath.

"To Spring" by William Blake

O thou with dewy locks, who lookest down
Thro' the clear windows of the morning, turn
Thine angel eyes upon our western isle,
Which in full choir hails thy approach, O Spring!

The hills tell each other, and the listening
Valleys hear; all our longing eyes are turned
Up to thy bright pavilions: issue forth,
And let thy holy feet visit our clime.

Come o'er the eastern hills, and let our winds
Kiss thy perfumed garments; let us taste
Thy morn and evening breath; scatter thy pearls
Upon our love-sick land that mourns for thee.

O deck her forth with thy fair fingers; pour
Thy soft kisses on her bosom; and put
Thy golden crown upon her languished head,
Whose modest tresses were bound up for thee.

Happy Spring, dear bleaders--we have only so many Springs in our lives, and I hope you and I have many together.