Maybe that’s putting it too strongly but am I the only one
who feels melancholy over failed steps toward spring? I mean, really! One day
it is 65 degrees and partly sunny while the very next day is gloomy drizzle
with snow flurries. Two days later we have a mini spring with tulips pushing up
through the soil, daffodils going crazy in garden beds, and the hint of tree
buds thickening slender branches.
Then, Kapow! Sleet, rain, snow and winds pummel the
neighborhood. Once green lawns are now dappled with snow and curb lines are
‘drifted’ with tiny piles of white stuff. The cars are once again salt stained
and yucky.
Roadways are now wet again, then damp, then slushy, then
rain and so it goes for weeks on end. Last week we had nearly seven days of
gloom. And our western counterparts wonder why we are so strong! It’s because
the weather is so horrid that we just persevere and that builds stamina. The
Midwestern variety, of course, which means we look forward to tornado season
because then we know for sure summer has arrived.
And then the Masters Golf Tournament at Augusta National.
What a setting. What beautiful spring vistas of blooming gardens, flowering
trees and breathtaking green lawns. Our favorite golfers are there, too, and
that makes it quite social. Their talents are legendary and precision awe
inspiring. And that’s coming from me, the one person who barely knows how to
spell golf to say nothing of understanding any part of the game. It’s just nice
to watch. Quiet and calming. Possibly nurturing of a nap?
Well then, along comes Jordan Spieth who demonstrates calm
magnanimously. He marches through the course making stunning shots and
controlling the leader board for days. Until he doesn’t. On the last day he stumbles
and loses four points off his lead and then another point. Once up by 7 he is
now down by 4. He makes a minor comeback but not enough and way too late. He
loses in what will be labeled a classic clutch.
I doubt it was a clutch. I think the man was tired from
carrying the tournament on his back with several golden heroes nipping at his
heels. That’s enough to drain the energy out of an entire army of strong men.
But here is Jordan Spieth doing battle on his lonesome. It
has to be weighty.
To be crushed late in the game in full view of the TV world
makes it only worse. And as the previous year’s champion, he has to present the
Green Blazer to his successor. This is more heartbreak. That it occurs in
spring is not entirely by accident.
The other day we awoke to a rime of snow and ice and temps
in the low 20’s. We worried that tender tree buds would be killed outright and
budding flowers would be burned to extinction at the soil line.
Perhaps the best part of spring is its triumphal success in
face of such diversity. After all is said and done, trees do bear leaves,
flowers to bloom, and desperately brown and burned lawns leap into spring with
dazzling shades of green.
But more! If one cocks one’s ears the sound of bird song
astonishes. This is a miracle of spring to be sure. Just as our emotions are
spent with variable miss-starts of the season, bird song reminds us we are not
alone and Mother Nature provides not only the company of the birds, but their
fluttering activity and gorgeous music, too.
Yes. I am a believer. In spring and its pull of human spirit
into the freshness of another year of growth and yearning.
It is good. All of it
is good. But only with hindsight that knows the gift is near!
April 12, 2016
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