This Is the Time

If only I could take a picture of a fragrance, I could capture today. My yard is blessed with a fragrance so powerful it's nearly tangible. No chemical, no scientist, no candle can capture this scent, and who knows how long the scent will last. If only I could take its picture and save it forever. Spring.

After what seemed like a never-ending winter, spring is solidly in our midst, and we in hers. The lawn is lush, the lilacs are in full bloom, the apple blossoms are waning, and the lilies of the valley are sneaking their tiny white blessings into the air. The overwhelming and unadulterated beauty is a welcome assault on the senses. This is perfection beyond the control of man. Spring.

As the flowers grow, so does the peace. Our bodies relieve our minds. Bare feet are just around the corner, pant cuffs are inching their way toward pasty-pale knees, freckles are emerging from hibernation, and hard-earned callouses are fast forming. Spring.

After months of keeping nature out of the house and ourselves in, windows are open. Friends linger a few moments longer at the propped-open-on-a-toe back door; we venture out to the patio and coerce the weather into coming inside. We drag it with us on sheets hung out to dry and bouquets snatched from trees along our path. After months of man vs. nature, we are one. Spring.

This is the time, finally. Woven into a child's hair is the singular scent of a day spent outside. Worn into the soft lines of a mother's hand is the love of her flowers. Young neighborhood shouts are hushed by the newly-green leaves on the trees, and a voice glides down the block, calling children in for delicacies from garden and glen. With every sense God gave us, it is here. Spring.