Spring Explodes

The end of March blurs into the beginning of April. One month indistinguishable from the other. A calm silence of snowmelt drips and seeps into the earth.  The hush of the wind rises, an inhalation gathering strength through the charcoal trunks oozing sap. Then, the nesting ducks choose a pond.

Sedate, they glide across the glass surface divulging no effort that furiously paddles below the waterline.  The pair turn and twirl in a dance of circles, quiet quacks of duck chatter, until they sense the watcher.  Their lithe necks tense. In a moment she calls the alarm. His webbed feet push down, his body rises, his wings ignite the explosion that launches him like a missile through the trees announcing -- SPRING!

The frenzy spreads to other birds who greet the first rays of dawn in a growing cacophony of cheeps, whistles, chirps and calls. The battle for territory to fulfill their biological imperatives plays out in beak first attacks in rapid looping dives past my head then hitting my pantleg as their flight fight distracts from my presence. 

A seemingly endless train of storms ride the Jetstream trestle across the nation. The dark of night rumbles like an approaching war across the ridges, its flashing munitions inexhaustible, powerful, frightening. By morning the puddles, wash outs, run off, and floods show us weaklings that the clouds will do their will. We are so small.



But so is each flower that pushed through the duff. From the night’s violence, rise violets. An army of Dutchmen hang out their tiny britches. The tightly wrapped sepals protecting the buds suddenly undress their Spring Beauty to wear raindrops like jewels.  Yellow Trout Lilies swim up through the leaf fall and bow their heads awaiting sunshine. Honeysuckle unfurls verdant flags to wave at a brief patch of clear sky. Even the sugar maple flowers, like hops on a vine before they flock into canopy. And a dance of daffodils trumpet the arrival of a new morning.