And; And And; And And

 

And; And And; And And

Although much is written in verse and song about the wonders of springtime, I must confess that it never has been my favorite season.  Well, at least for the first full moth of spring anyway.  That’s because in these parts it is difficult to easily distinguish between late March, and most all of April and late October and all of November.  Those landscapes lie brown and quiet and appear fairly lifeless; the skies are most often gray, thick and pressing and they can send down a flurry as well as a shower.

Now, in May, however, my heart is beginning to warm to improving possibilities.  Just in the past few weeks the grass shook off its dormant drabness and began to awaken.  Last week a few dandelions dotted the lawn.  By the end of the week the greening blades seemed suddenly voracious and vibrant; seeming to grow inches and more and more lush by the day, and the dandelions looked like they had spilled out all across the yard.  I’ve written before that I accept dandelions as the most dependable flower of my five acres.  My wife doesn’t complain either; yellow is her favorite color.

About twenty years ago I transplanted some purple violets from Michelle’s Grandma Stevens’ yard in one corner flowerbed.  This week, there are little bouquets of violets in all of our flowerbeds and many have gone free-range, even rivaling the dandelions.

Not to be outdone, the wild flowers along the ditches and in the woods that stands to our north has literally burst from the first few tiny blossoms to swatches of trilliums and geraniums.  The forest floor has morphed from the molted browns of molding leaves to a palette of pinks and whites and yellows.  The maples have already flowered and the buds of the aspens are swollen.

The same can be said for the birds.  We were happy for the life and simply the motion of the slate juncos and chickadees that provided amusement and hope during the bitter cold.  They were joined by the somber tan and dun gray mourning doves.  Our regular pair of cardinals provided the only promise of color.  But, in the last few weeks the male goldfinches have regained their summer bright yellow hue, and just yesterday morning two pair of orioles landed in the lilac bush.  Michelle hurried to slice some oranges in half and impale them on the tip of one of the shepherd hooks.  The orioles devoured the pulp in just a few hours, so that we had to cut another orange.  Taking a hint, Michelle also filled the hummingbird feeder and hung it out.  In less than an hour, two males were buzzing the yard.  And by supper time a rose-breasted grosbeak joined in growing commotion.  And returning from a quick errand today I saw seven newly-hatched goslings trailing their parents across the conservancy pond.

The long waiting is over.  We have finally reached the living season of and, and and, and and.  It is all a fitting tribute to the vocation of motherhood.  Those who give life, and give life, and give life.  Bless them all!

His Peace <><

Deacon Dan