Spring sprung

This was that week (in the St. Lawrence Valley at least); you know the one I mean. Not starter spring, not practice spring, but the real deal. Yes, the days have already been getting longer, and the soil has already been broken by early sprouting bulbs, and the grass has been greening up on and off for weeks. But now the flooded motor of mud season has finally caught with a full-throated roar.

A little rain, a few sunny days in the 60s and 70s and we’re off. One day the gray haze of bare limbs becomes a ruddy haze of leaf buds, the next day a yellow-green haze of tiny leaves softens the austere outlines of once-dormant hedgerows.

I look to the trees to tell me when spring has sprung, because my heart, made foolish by cabin fever, has led me astray before. But now the heron is here, and soon – maybe even today – there will be trillium on the river trail.

One year I spent this week on a silent meditation retreat, three days of sitting meditation interspersed with walking meditation along a streamside trail. There’s nothing like a prolonged diet of shut up to clear the head. It takes surprisingly little time for something new to unfurl.

First day: dime-sized leaves.
Second day: quarter-sized leaves.
Third day: full-blown leaves.

Tags: listeningpost