“Did seasons change only when humans dictated, only when mankind in his knowledge, wisdom, and limited power provided; the earth would long since have failed to function.”c e hollis
Yes, spring has come anyway. I am glad to be on the farm where I can watch her arrival with redbud blossoms, daffodils, greening grass and trees, and tulips whipping in the windy morning air.
Crapapple and pear blooms, mulberry and elm leafing out. With oak and ash trees budding and flowering. With honey locusts and dogwood donning their wedding white laces. The iris begin to unfold their unbelievable bearded blooms and red-on-green peony leaves unfurl as if they are tractor powered.
Everywhere I look I see the new green, bright sunshiny yellows, the rosy reds, perky pinks and purples of fresh flowers opening. The daffodils are nearly gone. The tulips begin to wear their petals out with their closing at night and opening to dawn’s light.
We are penned up inside for many wet days with thunder booming and wind blowing and ditches running high. It’s a flood season and water is a thing we are certainly grateful for. We have seen drought in Oklahoma and we remember.
The tree frogs are loving this weather and the birds work busily at nest building. The farm cat has been stealthily bird hunting. The dogs lay in the cool grass and soak in the warm sun. The cows are never so contented as when fresh grass is spread out like shag carpet.
Our south pasture is a verdant green and has a temporary pond now with a depth just right for teal-winged ducks and slow strutting cranes feasting on minnows, insects, and frogs. Winds blow from the south and the rain-soaked world is as humid as a dripping sponge. The wind whips out of the north by night bringing more lightning, more rain and cool temps that challenge the early starting gardeners. (My garden still resides indoors waiting to be transplanted when the risk of frost is certainly past).
Fire repairs to the house have been halted and we must wait until the virus is laid to rest and the work can continue. But spring is God’s promise and it has come. It always does––whether meek and mild with soft southern breezes and the scent of hyacinths or woolly and wild with storms, tornadoes, rains, and wind.
Spring comes to us like a lamb or some years like a roaring lion.
Every year we are amazed anew.
Every year we are awestruck and somehow still surprised.
Every year we welcome spring with ready hearts and open arms.
Every year spring comes.
She comes anyway. She comes.
“Because the Promiser keeps His promises.”c e hollis