It is late March, and the days have become like a lamb. Nature is now more gentle, more serene, more pure. All creation testifies to nature's miraculous transformation.
In the woodlands, the understory wears a touch of bright green. High in the canopies, the crimson buds of the maple resemble vine ripen raspberries ready to burst. Along the Olentangy, the red tail hawk circles slowly over the greening river banks; the white sycamores reaching upward like Corinthian columns along the flowing waters. The skunk and chipmunk emerge from their cozy earthen homes. Here and there, I glimpse a forsythia increasing to its full canary-yellowness while the tops of the pussy willow twiddles in the breeze. The sky is a layer cake of cotton candy pink, white, orange and blue.
Oh yes, creation has put on her party hat.
And, nature's transformation lifts my soul. But my true joy is the sweet birdsong lullaby filling the cool morning air: The cardinal's solo as bright and crisp as its ruby feathers. Song sparrow, finch, and robin adding harmony to the cardinal's love song. My heart lilts. At times like this, I wish I were singing in a tree. I wish I were the bird being sung to!
Verily, spring finds my fancy. Every year, without fail. creation reminds me why I am. Like the flowers of the woods, I too am reborn from nature's baptismal rains. Like the small forest flower, I unfold to embrace all that is good, green and true in the large expanse that surrounds me.
