“If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant.”—Anne Bradstreet
Do you prefer the winter or the spring? Do you enjoy the warmth beside a fireplace or the warmth of a spring sun ray? Do you prefer glistening snow in December or glistening dew on a crisp early-April morning? Do your eyes wander to the orange leaves falling from limbs or the first sign of growing green buds?
Without a doubt, spring is my favorite time of year.
The months between August and December 2018 flew so quickly that the weather change almost gave me culture shock, so the season’s gloom was more prevalent in me this year.
Sure, I do not mind snow. I do not even mind ice when it’s extensive enough that I get to stay home from work, and I also do not mind it when it gives me a nice picture. When the November 2018 snowstorm hit southwest Missouri and the leaves were still bright, I took my camera for some cool shots of orange leaves among the wet white powder.
However, three months of cold and gloom is too long for this spring bug, and it is easy to complain when what is to come is better than what is now.
I love watching growth in process, and I enjoy the beauty that comes from it. If someone asked me what my favorite flower is, I couldn’t give them an answer. There is not one flower without equal beauty to another. As a child, I ran around my backyard picking dandelions until I had a bouquet in my hand. Despite remarks of “That’s a weed, not a flower,” I stayed true to my belief that the yellow wonders in my grass-stained hands were flowers, especially when my mom marveled over them and displayed them in water. This growth does not apply only to trees, grass, and flowers, but people—children—as well. The spring of life shows growth and development, and it is beautiful to watch, especially for parents. Perhaps this is why many people wish to skip over winter.
In the words of the first published colonial writer—Anne Bradstreet—the winter is a big reason for the satisfaction of spring. If we lived in spring and spring only, would we value it as much?
My desire for the coming of spring transitioned into this poem recently written for my poetry class. For all of you other spring bugs out there, hope is on its way!
The biting cold will not leave,
but it knows that it must.
Gray clouds linger, stratus hang low
and smooth as they glide across crisp air,
across the past and leaving warmth.
soon a glimmering light peaks through,
and everything begins to grow.
A green stem pokes through soil
and wonders if it will be a weed, a flower,
or a new leaf on a dead limb;
The caterpillar transforms,
and after death of his old self,
he listens to the robin perched on a limb
sing a song of wonder, a song of growth,
a song of wisdom
for those who live in youth.
The youth never hear the song,
and few never grow toward the music.
When the season ends, though,
they sing it themselves.