We awoke the other morning to a vague feeling similar to the anticipation of an imminent happening of a singularly delightful yet undefined experience. We did recall that it was the “Ides of March,” from Shakespeare’s “Macbeth,” but that literary landmark clearly would not evoke sentimental emotion. As we sleepily peered out of the window we perceived that the tall trees appeared to be eerily motionless, with no branches or seasoned leaves stirring, as if in portrayal of a state of deferential anticipation. By contrast, the evergreens viz., pine, fir, and spruce trees, seemed engaged in a well-earned rest, presumably relishing the successful completion of their annual green winter vigil in the responsible assurance that Nature was, despite appearances, eternally animate. It took a few additional moments to resolve that the tall deciduous trees were seasonably engaged in rapt concentration in eager anticipation of the imminent arrival of the perennial visitor, “Spring,” slated to arrive, on Tuesday, March 19, 11:06 AM in the company of the Vernal Equinox.
We entertained the fanciful illusion that the ground was vibrating almost imperceptibly, as if responsive to an ethereal natural alarm clock, naturally pre-set to reliably activate a few moments before the prescribed time for seasonal change. The subliminal sound of the clock and the subtle response of the topsoil were revealed to be functional backstage theatrical cues for many underground players to commence their annual performance. The tulip bulbs, on cue, began to subtly moisturize and the thin green blades of daffodils and wild onions now commenced their early seasonal ascent. As might be empirically expected, the singularly impatient crocus had already begun its surface performance.
The vibrations proceeded downward, causing the small, hibernating critters to gently stir. A pregnant member of one sleeping furry assemblage, gently scratched her expanded belly, soon to deliver her six pups on the surface; a few of the others merely wrinkled their small black noses, in disturbed annoyance. We had the conception that if one should attentively listen he could hear the beginnings of a diminutive flow of water, beginning beneath the sluggishly thawing surface of the nearby stream.
One might stand outdoors with closed eyes in concentrated attention and predictably once more, sense on his cheek the subtle beginnings of a moist and warm flow of sweetly floral-scented air, at the start of light rain. While thus engaged he might espy the two tan-colored deer, standing at the stream, the doe thirstily licking the slowly melting surface while the ever-vigilant male nervously wagged the tail on his white furry backside, furtively looking for signs of possible danger while hungrily ruminating on some tasty green newly sprouted shoots.
As traditionally done in previous pleasant expectations of welcome guests, we brushed off the “Welcome” mat, and partially opened the door. After then setting the living room table with tall wine glasses, utensils, a cold bottle of Prosecco, cheese, crackers, and various fresh fruits, we joyfully awaited the arrival of our notable guest, “la Primavera.”
-p.
plinyblogdotcom 