I must be British: I’m talking about the weather. I’ve often found that when people run out of things to say, they talk about the weather. Does this happen in other countries I wonder?
England can have all the seasons in one day, (but don’t let that put you off, it is extremely charming in other ways). Today, it is Thursday afternoon on the 4th April and it is supposed to be spring. As a sit at my computer I can look out over my wintery garden. It is of course, snowing hard. It should be nearly bluebell time and the daffodils should be just a memory. They are in fact still in that tight-bud stage and seem frightened to open out in case they get too cold. Yes, the snow-drops were beautiful (but late) and the birds are confused. Do we build our nests, or don’t we, they are saying to one another? Blue-tits usually time having their young to perfection. They come out of their eggs just in time for their parents to bring them caterpillers and grubs that are hanging from the leaves on the trees. But even the trees still think it is winter. They are confused too.
Some time ago, I wrote a poem about SPRING. I think it is time to give it an airing, as it might hurry spring up a bit…
(by Phyllis Burton)
Mother Nature wakes, and lifts her head to the sun,
‘Oh trees bring forth leaves and blossom: bulbs send up your flowers’,
And slowly, an array of colour assaults the senses,
Thus lifting the hearts of sun-starved beings.
Memories of cold days and nights soon dim,
As Mother Nature calls to all creatures great and small.
‘Oh, come build your homes, come raise your young’,
And each one responds with love and duty.
All manner of creatures wake, stretch and bless her.
They bless her for deliverance from the elements’ wiles,
Saying, ‘Thank you dear Mother,’ and scurry off quickly,
To find food, a mate and the new life to come.
Hope springs eternal from the Robin’s breast
As he proclaims his dominance from the treetops.
‘For mine is the Kingdom and mine is the glory,
So thank you dear Mother, I can do the rest.’
Bees too are awakened by the early spring sunshine
They look heavenward and bless her persistence.
They sip and dip busily into each newly born flower,
Saying, ‘We’ll help you,’ they cry, ‘We’ll help you.’
Grasses and sweet flowers, sway gently in the breeze.
Dancing and bending to Mother Nature’s call.
‘Oh splendid Mother, you never let us down,
As each year you produce your glorious, glorious crown.’
Perhaps when SPRING does arrive, it will produce a GLORIOUS CROWN. We live in hope.