For as long as I can remember, spring has been my absolute favorite season. It’s the season of fresh air, sunshine, and sprouting buds. Since we are now in April, I can declare with some confidence, that winter is indeed over. There will be no more winter snowstorms for the next several months—not until October and the new winter season comes upon us.
If we do get a snowstorm, it will, of course, be a spring snowstorm.
This past weekend, the weather was mild enough outside to have the doors of our house open. On Saturday, for part of the day, we had both the front and the back door propped wide, encouraging the fresh air to enter and replace the stale In the late afternoon, it was just the back door that was propped. Our daughter fired up the grill—what we here in Canada call the barbeque—and she grilled some hamburgers (and yes, we do tend to say barbequing up here). I had made a potato salad earlier that day, and that, with the burgers, was our supper.
Sitting at my desk that afternoon, working when she opened the door, I found myself relaxing to the fabulous sound of birdsong. I’m horrible when it comes to knowing the names of the birds who make those awesome sounds. This song sounded like “cheery cheery, cheery”, and the feathered one sang it allegro, and in stanzas of five.
I used to love being up before the dawn during this time of year. Just a few minutes before sunrise, the birds would begin to sing—more than one type of bird, and from points on every side of the house. When the birds began their symphony, I knew to look to the east because the sun would soon appear.
I’ve been doing a bit more surfing on the web lately than is probably good for me. Doing so allows me to be distracted. There’s no pattern, either, to what I’ll spend my time on. One day last week I found myself watching the speech given by the Prince of Wales after his recovery and release from official isolation. He’d contracted Covid 19 but was on the mend. It wasn’t a very long speech, but it was well thought, and well delivered. The line that stood out for me was near the end, and as follows: “None of us can say when this will end but end it will.”
I suppose why that touched me so profoundly was because it was such a hopeful line. One of the talking heads last week, and no, I don’t recall which one, was mentioning that this virus could be with us for years. That it would leave us for a spell, but come back, and ravage us again…and again and again.
Maybe it will. Maybe this virus will be cyclical until a vaccine is found. But what an awful thought. I applaud the need for transparency; I understand that as an adult, I must be aware of the range of possible outcomes. But there comes a bloody point when those who are constantly adulting just need a flipping break!
So I am going to take that break here and now for all of us. In the words of HRH, “Until it does [end], let us try and live with hope and, with faith in ourselves and each other, look forward to better times to come.” And his mother, as one would expect, a few days later put it even better, more rhythmically, and more succinctly. On Sunday, Her Majesty ended her brief speech with this: “…better days will return; we will be with our friends again; we will be with our families again; we will meet again.”
Those are the best words I’ve heard in quite some time. And I just looked out my bedroom window. The side yard needs raking, but the first daffodil is about to bloom!
Love,
Morgan
http://www.morganashbury.com
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