If spring were a song, the deep base notes would be the thunderstorms that have rolled over my rooftop the last couple of days. Northwest Arkansas needed the rain so yay!!! Rainwater makes the spring colors pop even more brilliantly than before. That’s the way it looks to me, anyway. The trees are budding bright and fresh, the tight dogwoods blossoms have burst open, and even the bearded irises have begun to bloom.
I don’t see how anyone wouldn’t be cheered by simply going for a walk.
If spring were a song the birds would chirp the melody.
The birds are busy as bees. (So maybe we should say busy as birds?) They definitely whistle as they work, even during the rain.
I walk beneath my neighbor’s stunning row of cherry trees and study the branches overhead. The trees withstood the storms well. In the distance, morning rises above Mount Sequoyah.
The smell of iris immediately transports me to Nana’s garden on the home place. My irises aren’t blooming yet, and I appreciate the established gardens in our Washington-Willow neighborhood.
Dogwoods are blooming. Every house has at least one.
I’m reminded of Easter and the Legend of the Dogwood. Do you know it?
If spring were a song, it would gush from the ground, clear and cold and effervescent. It would float from the heavens, soft like a dream. And I would sing it. All day.
Today is the beginning of the fourth week of Lent. Reflect on the good.
Grace Grits and Gardening
Farm. Food. Garden. Life.
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Mindy Gledhill, This is My Song