By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
Springtime has the distinction of being a mixed bag that can sometimes prove challenging. The season is the epitome of a love-hate relationship. I know some people that tend to lean further to one side or the other of those two extremes at this time of year and I must admit that I understand both sentiments. I have been forced to evaluate my own opinions on such things these days. You get out a bit more than usual in nature and you start to seriously consider some things. You really can’t help but to when you’re in the thick of it.
I am sure over the course of my years doing this blog, I have likely talked too much about seasonal weather. Just last week I was bemoaning the storms that are common this time of year. But Spring is just such a unique juxtaposition of the last clawing death grip of Winter and the unprecedented warmth that the South can produce for the bulk of the year. And the two very literally battle it out in violent ways. The evenings and mornings, or even the occasional full day or two can be chilly with frost on the ground. Warm layers must be worn. But when the temperature discovers what the mercury in the thermometer is down to it will shoot up with a vengeance making a massive difference between the start of a day and only a few hours later. And since the two extremes are so adamant to wedge their way into such a small amount of time, violent conflict frequently erupts as the two most assuredly do not get along with each other. Then it’s thunderstorms and tornados that wreak havoc then vanish leaving a beautiful blue skied day to pick up the pieces.
The weather isn’t the only mixture of lovely and horrid either. One of the most appealing aspects of the season is the blooming flowers. Just on my driveway alone, the pavement is littered with intoxicatingly fragrant jasmine blossoms that fall from great yellow tangled masses of vines that are wound all around the not yet leafed trees. Their aroma is glorious. And in the last few days, the wisteria has also begun to bloom with clusters of dangling purple petals. I remember as a child I used to pretend that they were grapes hanging from those vines. In the last day or so the dogwood trees have begun to open their buds and almost every patch of available grass is also speckled with all manner of tiny little wildflower. Colors are bursting forth from what was the grey woods, minus the ever present green of pine trees.
Speaking of the loathsome pine, it is them along with some of the seemingly innocent trees budding out that is causing a horrific aspect to the atmosphere. You can watch as yellow clouds billow in devious swirls through the air. The blossoming brings pollen and in disconcerting amounts. Any surface that is outside or even if it is inside and near an open window, will be immediately and thoroughly covered in foul dust. And for me, it is even worse to think of what this powder is. These are the reproductive spewings of trees that are just willy nilly covering all of creation with their procreative attempts. And not only is everything now butter tinted, we breathe it in and it wreaks all sorts of havoc on our sinus cavities. It’s awful to think that such content is now in our lungs and noses. The aesthetically pleasing produces the annoying at best, and misery inducing at worst. What a heinous contrast.
It is a good lesson to learn I suppose. Though there were bitter moments that seemed as though the lifeless pangs of winter would never end but Our Creator in His infinite wisdom knew that we would need reviving and that it would not do to leave us in the cold and still. He gave us a time of renewal and refreshing but just like every season in our life it will not come without challenges. The seed cannot grow into a new tree without first being buried and then bursting open. We long for spring during winter, and we will long for cooler weather once we get to the real heat of things. How often do we forget that to bring the flowers we must have the rain. Just as we’ll forget (or at least try to) that those beautiful flowers will be promptly decorating everything in a sickly shade of yellow and cause us to sneeze. To everything there is a season.
Prose and Possibilities 