Sunshine has been scarce the last dew days. Spring is full of flowers – and rain. Though we did have, a fleeting storm, Monday night, mostly the showers have been light. Days are born in mist and how lovely the blossoms are in mist, I think. Suddenly, the woods are green! They are the color of jade now, as the trees are adorned with young leaves, The dogwood has a few blossoms, too. . . and now, the birds sing, celebrating the time “when flowers appear on the earth.” You would think, that all of this splendor, would make for a merry heart, naturally. . . but yesterday, I cried.
Being sentimental, I will cry at the drop of a hat . . .at beauty. Kind words, make my heart well up as does acts of kindness. When something good happens to someone, I cry tears of joy, whether I know them, or not. This has always been so . .but this was not the circumstances, yesterday. Yesterday, I cried because the lawn mower wouldn’t start!
Kyle was caught completely off guard, by my behavior and stood there looking stunned. Before, you consider me totally mad or “fragile”, be aware that the territory is about three acres of yard – and I went through this all of last summer. Had it not been for my neighbor, Susan, I do not know what I would have done. If the grass gets too high, you will need a tractor, which mows it like a hay field -and it is very costly. It is no small thing to be behind in mowing, on the rabbitpatch, and I am just weary of this predicament. Still, it was much ado for an untidy yard. I did apologize to Kyle for my outlandish display, but I am ashamed, that recovery,did not come swiftly. I counted my blessings – and I have so many. This is the best remedy I know of, for such occasions. By the time I went out, to bid the world, good night, I had calmed down from my tantrum, and felt foolish.
The stars were out, after all and the faint smell of clover hung sweetly, in the cool air. There was a chorus being sung, by tiny little night creatures -and a killdeer pierced the dark, with great excitement. An evening in Spring, is lovely.
I slept soundly, and convinced myself , that in spite of myself, all was well. Life is more than one moment, thankfully.
I rose the next morning, to an “early bird” singing like his life depended on it. It mattered little to him, that it was still pitch dark. It mattered even less, to him that the grass needed cutting. A new day was just over the horizon and so he sang an especially sweet prelude, because of it. Today, I would not be ill tempered, I promised the Heavens.
A few hours later, I was driving past the quiet pastures and the fields of winter wheat. The emerald grain, is now knee deep. Sunlight flooded the fields in long slanted rays and the once, bright corners of the field, are now shaded.
At school, the children are telling of sightings of young bunnies and finding kittens. . . .a sure sign of April. I remember finding kittens as a child. It was a joyous affair and we would spend a morning trying to catch them, for they were feral as could be. None of the adults ever shared our enthusiasm for the discovery of wild kittens, under a barn. I do not know what Grandmama held against cats, but as it turns out, Mama is scared of them! She is to this day and don’t you know that there is more than one story about that. I did not find this out, til many years after childhood. I knew that when we we would run in the little farmhouse full of excitement,at our find, the adults shared odd glances, with one another, that became familiar over the years. No matter what, children can never be convinced that finding a litter of kittens, is not a sheer and divine stroke of good luck.
Only one kitten was ever tamed. It was a calico and I thought she was beautiful. I named her “Frosty”. She never did allow us to hold her, but she like to be petted. To this day, I love calico cats.
The week passed, with every day fairer than the one before it. It is no wonder to me that people fall in love so easily, in months like April, for the earth itself, seems to encourage it, with the lilacs blooming , butterflies wafting along and all the nest building. Such things conjure up tender thoughts and soften hearts, in the young. . .and in the poets.
Surely the wild hyacinths, do their part, to lend enchantment to the season. A few are blooming by the garden, as they always do. They smell every bit as good as their fancy cousins, even if they aren’t as regal. Beyond the garden . . .the white tufts of clover are abundant. I love the smell of clover – almost as much as the roses in June. Some people do not like the hodgepodge look of such a yard. Many will go to great lengths, to rid their yard of “Aprils’ flowers”, but it is but a few short weeks of the whole year . . so mine abide. . .and the bees are happy.
Somehow, I was able to live up to my conviction, this week and not pitch another single fit. I do hope this is not a short lived affair – for life itself, is a short lived affair. . . .really a sacred one. One of the most beautiful and brave things we can do, is to live authentically, recognizing our truth. . . and some times our truth may not be so charming, and may include things like tantrums. . . but truth is always of great value, for it acts as a compass of sorts, and shows us our short comings, so that with practice, we will get along better as we go.
Besides, there are too many loved ones in my world -and too many hyacinths to waste a moment . There are the fields and the woodlands . . .and a laughing river. There are the robins and young rabbits, to consider . . .and there is “April”.
Dear rabbitpatch Diary, Might I dwell on “whatever is true,whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, and whatever is lovely’ . . . always.