Spring in the Ozarks, though bipolar, is one of the most beautiful sights you could be blessed to see. The fields cradle new baby cows, the hundred year old daffodils pop up on country roadsides, the birdsong in the early morning is thick, and the sounds of the men beginning to mow lawns brings the comfort of routine.
Watching the plants emerge from the dormant winter is a powerful visual that makes me think of Christ’s resurrection. Everything is re birth right now. Everything feels fresh and tender. I breath deeply, content that the promise of a new season has been fulfilled. God’s handiwork is ever reliable and the land is being painted in the colors of the flower’s bloom.
Now is the time to fling open the windows and let the house air for soon it will be Missouri sticky hot and they will stay closed tight until autumn arrives. Cleaning, polishing, tossing out the things that accumulated during the dark half of the year. A flurry of motion as we prepare for the slow, humid days around the corner.
I’ve left the Peter Rabbit cookie jar out past Easter to enjoy just a little longer. Spring, like youth, is fleeting. I want to prolong this flash of new life season and the Holy Day. I taste the bitter green chickweed growing in the yard. It stokes the fires of my insides and signals the frost has gone.
So much April rain this year. The creeks are running, spilling out into the meadow grass like the love for spring that spills from my heart.