Spring changes everything.
The viscous fog that held me bound is melting away. I’ll soon be free, born again into the realm of the May Queen. She walks the wild places, making everything new. Untold shades of green are a canvass for wildflowers of every hue, each a rare gemstone shining light into the dark corners. The spring flowers are the pioneers, harbingers of impending summer.
The air is different. The thin, biting wind of winter has been replaced by something new, a zephyr dense with pollen and scent, imbued with warmth. Close your eyes, let your other senses assume control. Breath it in. Taste it. Stand still and listen to the sound the spring breeze carries to your discerning ear. Birdsong. Nature’s great chorus, performing cantatas of endless variety for you alone.
Foremost among the May Queen’s haunts are the woodlands. I know she’s been as soon as I skip over the shallow brook and step past the hazel threshold. I’m not religious, but at times the divide between nature and faith seems paper-thin. The woodland in spring is my place of worship, my cathedral. The mighty boles of ash and oak are its great stone pillars, the crown-shy canopy its vaulted ceiling. Each glade is a quiet chapel, and each shaft of sunlight permeating that leafy ceiling shapes a dappled glow more beautiful than any stained glass lancet. The fallen log is my pew, a place for quiet reflection. I consider the elegant mosaic that stretches before me. Bluebell, anemone and archangel, a carpet woven by the seraphim.
The winter malaise is banished for another year. I step out of the woods renewed, more alert than ever to the world around me. I am part of nature, and it is part of me.
Spring changes everything. Blue skies bring joy.