Magnolia Says Spring is Here
I'm not so sure
I’ve been talking to Magnolia outside the kitchen window. She’s had buds since January. I keep reminding her it is not time.
Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon.
Each day new buds appear. I worry Magnolia will be sorry, suffer the next inevitable freeze like today. Then I won’t see her beautiful blooms in the properly designated spring time.
Yesterday was a sunny 70 degrees and today is a blistering gray snowy 30 degrees. After the storms rolled through, the cold rushed blowing Magnolia from east to west covering precious little buds in snow.
Why is Magnolia so confused?
A few days after the storms, the remnants of cold and snow still remain. I talk to Magnolia again.
Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon.
The next day in the morning dark, I open my window a crack to let the fresh cold air fill the empty spaces. I wrap myself in a cozy fleece blanket with its red mandala-like pattern and kneel to the darkness to let meditation fill the empty spaces the cold has already touched.
It is still too cold to let all in without protection.
Yes, too cold for my preference even with my cozy blanket. Still I open the window a crack feeling the cold rush in to blow me from east to west covering rambling thoughts in snow.
Birds sing outside while rambling thoughts weighted in snow settle. New musical notes have been added over the past few weeks. I keep thinking it is not time for all these new notes. The spring concert shouldn’t appear for another month.
Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon.
Magnolia Says Spring is Here Soundtrack
Hit play, pause, listen for a few breaths, then continue reading
Each day a new bird arrives to add its musical notes to the morning concert. No longer is it the cawing of the crow in the cold empty quiet. Now there are warbles and honks and chirps and whistles and squawks to fill the space in between the once lonely caws.
I worry the birds will be sorry, suffer the next inevitable freeze like today. They don’t have fleece blankets to wrap themselves in like me.
Why are the birds so confused?
Each day I whisper to the birds.
Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon.
The freeze has passed and the warmth slowly starts to seep. Not a rush like the cold, but a gentle warming of the soul.
Is it the absence of cold that brings the warmth or does the warmth fill the cold?
Does not matter, the cold awaits its next rushing while today I sit feeling the warm sun, aimlessly staring into the deep blue.
No storms on the horizon.
At least, I don’t think so.
I carefully step up the rock path to dump the compost that had been sitting on the counter for too many days.
On my way, I visit Magnolia to plead one more time face to face.
Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon. Please don’t bud too soon.
Magnolia has not heeded my pleas.
I continue on my path to the compost pile and pause to listen to the bird concert. I whisper one more time.
Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon. Please don’t sing too soon.
The birds have not heeded my whispering pleas.
I reach my properly designated compost pile and return my scraps back to the earth.
On the way back, I visit Magnolia once again to deeply look into the furry green buds that continue to blossom into fullness day by day, branch by branch, bud by bud.
I gently touch the soft fur. I can’t help myself.
I stare a little deeper before speaking.
“Ok, dear magnolia, dearest birds, I bow to you. Why should I determine when you bloom, when you can sing? If spring is here, then spring is here.”
I don’t think Magnolia nor the birds are confused. It knows the heartbeats better than I.
“[T]he art of life is more like navigation than warfare, for what is important is to understand the winds, the tides, the currents, the seasons, and the principles of growth and decay, so that one's actions may use them and not fight them.”
Alan Watts - Tao: The Watercourse Way
I am the confused.
Spring is here, spring is here.
Yes, even in blistering gray snowy 30 degree days spring is here.
How do I know?
Magnolia and the birds told me.
It is not to question whether spring is here.
Can I be in the rhythm of an early spring?
I don’t know if I’m ready.
