I call it High Spring. So does Linda, my lead character in the novel I’m currently working on. Here is part of a letter she writes but later burns, the only alternative to actually sending it—an act that would be far too costly.
We have finally reached High Spring here in Abington after a difficult winter. When I set out in my car early this morning, God the artist lured my mind away from winter, and I got caught up in the pastel wash of yellows and greens across the hillsides, with patches of red accenting the swamps. I’m now on a college campus not noted for architectural excellence, but its landscaping shows promise, and that, of course, is why I’m here, waiting to give a lecture. At this time of year, almost any landscape looks good—bulbs, early azaleas, the multihued yellows of daffodils, forsythia, and weeping willows. But most of all, I’m drinking in the fair green of new, unmown grass. And maples. Oh, those glorious maples! The reds, are, of course, first to bloom but last to turn green. Right now they are nearly as brilliant as fall colors. But I’m sitting on a bench under a Norway maple that is heavy-headed and heavy scented—almost fatally so. Down the path in front of me is a row of mature sugar maples—stately and magnificent in lace-fringed bridal finery! My heart aches.
I call this High Spring because winter’s death has been totally conquered, if only for a brief moment. Death’s sword will soon leave its mark, first with daffodils, then forsythia, and of course, tree blossoms that quickly carpet the ground. But for now, I can drink in the sights and smells of God’s High-Spring artistry. But even with the onset of death, spring itself will carry on. Muscled trees will leaf out heavy chested, the scent of lilacs will attack me, and toads will trill just a few feet from the gazebo, again binding my heart unbearably tight.
I, along with Linda, love spring, the time of year when Earth shouts the glory of God’s handiwork. How does High Spring affect you? Please let me know if you, too, wish you could freeze the moment and then replay it during those days when hearts are dark and heavy with whatever misery.