Tag Archives: spring

3/20/17

1-IMG_0190Is there something you are waiting for? More than waiting but anticipating with eagerness?  It seems like the first day of spring is something people anticipate and are happy to see arrive whether or not the actual day is spring-like or not, just the realized date is enough to say winter is in the rear view mirror.

I’d forgotten today was the first day of spring but all my colleagues mentioned it.  I started thinking about other things I look for to arrive.  It seems to be a past time I experienced more in my growing up – waiting birthdays, for sleep overs, summer vacation, going to high school, college, weddings, births, special visits.

Now that spring has come, what am I waiting for, anticipating with eagerness in the same way I delight in the coming of more daylight, warmth and sunshine and flowers?  How about you?

 

 

 

 


a walk on the equator

On Sunday I walked my dad’s street with him, a slow meander up the lane and back, and appreciated the revelry of spring: loamy soil, hyacinth and daffodil,  magnolia blossoms as big as tea cups, and that indescribable shade of green vibrating at the tips of everything in sight.

The world outside is an orchestra of stimuli tuning up my senses like tentative bows on strings, the muffled stroke on tympani, the tip toe of the oboe up the scales.

But in my classroom right now it is harvest time.  I move from child to child like a farmer in the fields of November, looking for the final yield of the season.

Equipment that was so essential in the fall, isn’t as necessary and I’m already boxing it up and pushing it high into the eaves of my classroom.  The next few weeks will be full of tallying – taking stock of the year.

And then, just when summer comes running across the threshold for a kiss, I’ll pull the blinds to the sun, close the door to my classroom and know that dust will come to settle in the stillness and shadows.

It is spring in the world outside and everywhere there is new life and the pulse of potential. But the pages of my calendar are falling faster than cherry blossoms.   It’s time to tuck my bulbs in the cellar.