When our sunny days sparkle between the rainy ones, I go out for fresh air therapy. A noontime finds us on the lawn chairs with our mugs on the table between. Our heads are tilted back to catch some beams and we let the wind chime carry the conversation. Two chickadees come to our tea party and remain in the nearby shrubs, flitting twig to twig. If I hadn’t chosen to be still and silent, I might have missed their cheer. One’s own yard as nature preserve enhances sheltering-in-place.
No one on the news channels reports the season’s unfolding. All the same and no matter what, it is spring. A walk to my mailbox bedazzles. My neighbor’s driveway is lined with popsicle-shaped pear trees. She is an artist living in an impressionistic landscape. All white and light.
As I walk on a distance on our rural road, here a tree, there a shrub positively glittering. The cherry trees at their peak seem hung with snow. As I stroll, I feel the lightness of the landscape. Climate change finds the blossom cycle rapid – the first redbuds sing “rejoice,” pink and cream dogwood flowers unfurl. Dandelions glow, remaining daffodils and forsythia exuberant punctuation marks of yellow. And when I come ‘round the bend, an opening of Irish green pasture reveals the Holstein cows, crisply black and white, contented in their meadow.
It is my great privilege to be homebound amidst such glories.
Back at my tea party with the chimes and the chickadees, the tabby cat commandeers part of my cushion. Her fur is warm and she curls around contentedly. I notice a small purple violet, a periwinkle along her vines, the first wood poppy grows through her left-over leaves – yellow, persistent. Amidst the fragrance of viburnum, all is quiet. In this moment Calm is possible.
With so much beyond our power, we are given spring. A beautiful day indeed.