the grass has riz,
I wonder where
the flowers is.
A direct quote from my Dad, who was known to recite that little ditty every spring, for the amusement of his progeny, while taking on the stance of a great orator. Dad was funny.
I much prefer spring in the country to spring in the city, but even here the wonder of the change in seasons makes itself known.
My building has a communal deck attached to the back. There is a table and a few chairs there and even though it overlooks the parking lot, it is still a nice place to sit on a sunny spring day, coffee cup and book in hand, for an afternoon of sunshine and mystery novel.
There is a bar located next door to my building, just across the alley, and another behind my building. It is possible to near snippets of conversation as patrons walk from one to the other.
"Come on. I'll buy you a drink."
"No, no, no. But I will take the money."
"I'm going to have one for the road."
"OK. And I will have one for the gutter."
"There's a reason you can't start that car."
"What's the reason."
"Because it's not your car,"
The downtown area where I live has old fashioned looking street lights. Every spring the city hangs baskets of brightly colored petunias from hooks on the lamp poles. There are also large flower boxes on every corner that are filled with more colorful petunias. I expect to look out my window and see the flowers within a week or so, for Mother's Day is usually when they arrive, turning a drab city street cheerful and pretty.
Whenever my windows are open I can hear the chitter chatter of sparrows and chickadees coming from the tree in front of my building. Last spring a pair of sparrows built a nest in the small tree outside my living room window. While the Mama bird sat on her eggs, the male was busy chasing away any and all threats to the nest. I watched him go after birds several times his size. The pair hatched out at least four babies and between two and three weeks later, the young birds were out on their own and the parents began a second family. The nest was partially hidden from view, but I caught glimpses of the babies now and then. I am easily amused.
Every spring the sky is filled with honking Canadian geese. Minnesota is the "Land of 10,000 Lakes," but I bet there are more if you include all the smaller ponds. The geese have been nesting here for generations. It is not unusual to have to stop your car and wait for mama goose to lead her gaggle of young across the road. Every summer there is at least one golf course that tries to remove the geese from their pristine fairways. And each attempt results in failure. The geese were there first and they will remain, no matter what.
I like fall best of all because of the color, but spring runs a close second. It means that the long winter is over and there is hope for summer breezes and sunshine. In February we in the north wonder if we will ever see green grass and leaves again. We do...thanks to spring.
Opus 2017-392: The Traditional Post
44 minutes ago