Up until last week Spring didn’t seem to exist, but she was
there in the shadows of the cool mornings and hidden within the flakes of snow
and up in the grey clouds. We get
so used to seeing Spring being the outgoing, flamboyant, carefree spirit she
usually is that when she arrives sullen and quiet and dressed in muted colours
that it catches us by surprise and we stop for awhile concerned, wondering if
she needs a moment or a shoulder or whether we should just let her figure
things out on her own.
We’re learning that she can be like that. Raised to be independent, she can
handle herself, though she has her tender emotional side that she will let you
see in rare glimpses if you are paying attention on those early mornings, the
dew a reminder of how much she cares for all these things in the garden. But she is a child of change and has
been given the unenviable role of cleaning up Winter’s messes and bringing
order to the chaos he left behind, a job she does with grace and beauty,
usually, but this year she has been troubled and is struggling to find herself
and dealing with emotions and feeling that she hasn’t had to face in some time.
She can be violent and it surprises all but those who know
her closely – storms can rage behind her eyes so quickly and with such ferocity
that you have only your instincts left to save you, automatic reactions of
survival. Then just as quickly calmness
and serenity return with the certainty of songbird voices in the treetops. We can be fooled by her fragility if we
are not careful, and so we learn to watch her closely and softly prepare for
any kind of weather, hoping for the bright sunny days and wrapping warmth that
will usher us through to summer, but carrying a light jacket just in case.
No one said this season would be easy or simple or even
pleasurable – the human need for labels and clear-cut angularity is not a
natural requirement – balance? Yes, complete order and fairness? Not so
much. The best we can do is stand
by and respond when called to act.
Take those clear blue, wonderful days and use them to our mutual
advantage, planting seeds to reap later; taking the time to tidy up the fringes
and edges that will always get ragged and uneven with normal wear and tear;
touching up the paint and protecting those things we want to last.
And when she turns and suffers through her anger and rage,
lashing out at those who love her, threatening harm and plowing destruction
across her path we must stand firm in our resolve, knowing a kind heart and
loving hand still exist under the dark, tumultuous skies; that behind eyes
flashing with pure intensity and under booming baritone voice she is in there
still, the gentle soul and laughing child who longs to be of service; the
small, innocent wonder we remember.
And so we wait out the storms.
