Few things make me happier than the liminal parts of the year: the nothing-week between Christmas and New Year, which always feel like a secret; the last of autumn when the air is blued with frost and the year is paling to winter.
But my love for those periods cannot come close to my fondness for early spring.
My god, I love early spring. I know, I know. It’s not exactly the prettiest time in the year. Grey slush is everywhere. The weather is unpredictable. In places, it reeks of previously-frozen dog poop.
Nonetheless, for all the unpleasantness of early spring, it is hard to ignore the fact this is also when there is clear evidence the world is beginning to wake from the long winter. The vegetation has begun to put out new growths. Branches are jeweled with leaf-buds; tree trunks gleam emerald from moss. Where the snow has peeled back, there is grass. Where there is bare earth, there are amaryllis and tulips beginning to reach for the sun.
(I spotted magnolia buds yesterday and I think I scared a few people when I squealed in joy. They’re so fuzzy. They’re so stinking cute. Agh. Coincidentally, you should follow Alexis Nicole if you don’t already. Her insight into the wild world is jaw-dropping.)
And it is glorious. This year, my delight in early spring is especially acute. Because of Jeeyon Shim’s gorgeous Yearning RPG, I’ve found myself listening intently for birdsong. I scan the grey skies for a flutter of wings, a flash of movement: whatever might lead me to a sighting. I don’t remotely have the vocabulary for birdwatching, but that doesn’t matter.
What matters instead is this new awareness, the eye I’m developing. What matters is the song or the yearning for the song, the triumph that comes with the discovery of a robin (greyish-brown, with a sorbet-orange belly). So much of life these days seems to be high-speed despair, facilitated by our dependence on social media. It’s nice to be reminded that is not all that we are, that we aren’t just meant to spectate the decline of our society. That we’re animals too, subject to the seasons, and this world, my god, is more beautiful than we deserve.
Anyway.
Tell me about a small thing of beauty in your life. I want to know.
Our house backs on to a mature wood; and when we got our first dog three years ago, we started walking her there. There’s a week or two in early spring where the wild garlic explodes on the shaded forest floor; a bright green carpet that lasts until the nettles take hold in the summer…
…spotting the deer who’s watching you carefully through the undergrowth, is always a small joy (not that the dogs sense them, we’re generally upwind)