The Song of Spring

There is something sublime about a spring storm, about realizing that, while I was busy looking the other way, dark clouds were gathering forces behind the neighbors' houses, just waiting for a blast of wind to send them flying.

I suppose I could liken a storm to the multitude of unpleasant surprises we face, but in my mind it's not the same at all. There's nothing awe-inspiring about cruel twists of fate, the winding down of lives, or the workings of unhappy people. Instead, spring storms are the epitome of the never-ending force and beauty of nature.

I'm educated and most days am able to pass for not-entirely-stupid. I listen to the weather people who tell me to get inside, stay away from doors and windows, and hunker down in an interior room with plenty of flashlights and radios. But today, when the sky shouted from across town, showed itself over the neighbors' roofs, and stirred up the tree tops, where was I? Well, how do you think I know how it looked out there?

I was in my yard, under my beloved trees, listening to the song of spring play through the new leaves.

I stood there on a long winter's worth of empty acorn shells, thoroughly entranced with the kaleidoscope of clouds and leaves, letting the wind buffet me, welcoming a tangible reminder that spring did happen this year.

I need those reminders. We need those reminders. After all, we did survive a long winter, which followed a heartbreaking autumn and stress-filled summer before it.

And now, finally, renewal. Finally . . . life, hope, and a new set of seasons. Fresh air is wafting in through windows, flowers are blooming in spectacular fashion, trees are reliably preparing to shade us, mushrooms are surely about to pop, and the weather--Nature--is putting on her show, reminding us that we are not in charge.

For that reminder, I am thankful. I don't want to be in charge; I'm quite content to be eternally in awe.