SPRING

And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
​ (Joni Mitchell, The Circle Game)

Around we go again. Spring is not quite here but there are hints everywhere, snowdrops at Sheep Pasture, crocuses and budding daffodils at Governor Ames, sixty-degree days. The ice on Old Pond and New Pond is melting and this week, all of a sudden, people appeared on the sidewalks.
Spring is when life comes round again. Each new year brings novelty, even though it’s all an approximation of previous years. There will still be cold and blustery days; there might be snow.
But hope has sprung anew and for today that is enough. We go round and round in the circle game of seasons. 

Crocus at Governor Ames

Spring has arrived in what we call the town of Easton for 300 years and though many things have changed, many remain the same. Queset brook, unchecked, was here before 1725, as were the giant glacial boulders at Borderland. I’m guessing lady slippers in the woods were also, along with cranberry meadows, and bog iron. 

Queset in Spring

So enjoy the earth as it warms. Happy (almost) Spring!

At the Same Time

There’s a skunk dead in the road at Old Pond,
at New Pond dozens of red-winged blackbirds
sweep through slender tree branches
wrapped in circles of green and white.

Across town, a mourning dove
mourns in the shagbark tree
at dusk.

Call me a thief of lilacs, defender of
dandelions. Farmer of days, slicer of soil,
walker of the rhododendron path,
but never a deceiver of time.

Once, wild asparagus, rhubarb,
blackberries, huckleberries, lady slippers,
all grew within a half mile of here,
Right here, where it’s beautiful and sad

at exactly the same time.  

​
 Anne Wooster Drury