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Let’s Hear It For Spring
It is more than an announcer of the coming, main act
This morning I walk with my dogs through our local Victorian garden cemetery. The sun is up, strong and bright, and the place is an oasis of green, where shy muntjac deer peep out from behind sombre stone, and held between roads of feral traffic, the roar and coughing now a distant soundtrack that, for once, is subservient to the birdsong.
Spring and autumn are my favourite seasons. Both are harbingers of a main act. One is a promise, the other a warning and a melancholic elegy for what has just past. Spring has a pagan energy all of its own, stamped with the sensual dissonance of Stravinsky’s rites, unearthing new life from the soil and womb, and a portent of all the light and warmth that is to come. Sadly summer rarely lives up to the promise. Yet we must still celebrate the hope, all what remained in Pandora’s box, as a thing in itself to be warmed by and treasure.
Spring is much more than just an announcer of some main act that is distinctly has-been. Hope and promise engage the imagination in rites that stretch far beyond any material restraints. It is as boundless as our imagination. Spring holds the secrets to new life and abundance, deep below the surface, deep in the mulch of the earth.
