Spring Rain

Spring rain is different than the cold, harsh rain of fall and winter and the life sustaining rain of summer.  It's much like a pregnant woman's amniotic fluid leaking.  Sometimes it's a trickle that's hardly noticeable, but other times it makes its presence known by a powerful gush.  Either way, it herads momentous change--truly a harbinger of life.

I'm looking out the window admiring the red buds on the winter brown branches of the trees.  The pussy willow has bloomed--I've been so busy I didn't even notice that she exploded into her white puffy catkins until yesterday.  Normally I observe the appearance of brownish red sheaths that encase the pussy willows and check each day for the blossoms.  Not this year.  Clearly it was a wakeup call to me that I have to slow things down when I don't even notice the changes occuring right under my nose.

Some Pickwick crocuses have announced spring this week with their striped purple and white flowers, but there are many more due to bloom.  A few tete a tete daffodils have blossomed, and it looks like my new trees have survived the winter.    I was worried about them since I planted them so late in the season, but sure enough when I snapped a piece off their branches there's a lovely ring of bright green. All but one of the  rose bushes survived;  I'm pretty satisfied with that state of affiars.  There's still hope that she may just be delayed in showing signs of life, but as Emily put it yesterday, "I think that middle one is dead."   There goes thirty-five bucks.

As for the perennials, well, only time will tell, and I'm looking forward to clean-up to see what's sprouting.  Two new beds are planned for this year--one in front and one more in the back.

Back to the rain.  It's coming down harder now, and I am going to step outside and let it soak my skin and inhale deeply the newness of the earth rising from the barren landscape of winter.

I feel much like the phoenix  these days holding onto my fertility by a thread and waiting for the opportunity to rise up and overcome odds.  I'm not much of a gambler, but perhaps the effort, the sacrifice will be worth it.  Perhaps I'll just lose the fight like that allegedly defeated rush bush.  Either way, I know  I'm blessed.  It's hard for me to realize this in my chaotic existence.  (I really should be straightening up and cleaning right now, but screw it.  I'm inspired).  However, there's patches of soil that are mine out there to work, to use as canvas for the floral fantasies that drift into my mind as I type my mindless procedures of my day job.  It really doesn't matter that no one bought this piece of dirt for me--the plants don't know the difference.  Only I know the difference, and I really need to purge that thought from my head.  One day perhaps someone will share a piece of dirt with me, but for now, no one does.  And I need to be more OK with that.