Tuesday, March 3, 2015

"and when He shakes His mane, we shall have Spring again"

What is your definition of "Spring"?

As a stubborn, OCD-inclined child, my answer would have been that Spring is the stretch of days beginning at March first and ending on May thirty-first. Because there are 3 months in each season, exactly. February is a winter month. March is a Spring month. Thus, logically, neatly, and tidily, March the 1st = Spring!

But life isn't always neat, tidy, or logical.

Another school of thought might say that the calendar declares the "First Day of Spring!" to be March 20th. As if calendar-makers everywhere must conspire in secret meetings, holding Nature captive and demanding that she divulge her secrets, that they might print them in cute little fonts in a cute little square hung on somebody's fridge. Or as if it were a holiday which can be assigned whichever specific date suits the whim of humanity.

And perhaps it is such. But I don't think so.

For the past few years, I have determined in my soul the first day of Spring, not by the appearance of the jolly Robin (if he ever left in the first place - this is Oklahoma, after all), or by the first bloom of the daffodil.

There is always a day that comes, usually after a series of cold, wet and miserable days, and quietly declares itself as the herald of Spring. It is not necessarily a warm, bright or sunny day, or even one in which all of the snow is melted. When I step outside, I recognize it. It greets me as an old friend, and as I inhale its beloved scent, I know.

It is Spring.

(Today was that day for me. What about you? Do you recognize Spring by a specific date, sight, or smell?)

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