Spring and Rebirth

Renewal

Curled up in a corner of myself

Far above the tideline of the sea

Beyond the reach of human grasp and need

My kernel’s whole, sealed off and floating free.

I am renewed, each day the first of Spring

Life’s storms drawn back, I’ve reached the further shore

Inviolate and still, my centre held

I’m on dry land, and don’t want any more.

SC

Spring along the Wye - a Haiku 

Mating mallards splash 

Water vole scurries through reeds 

Is new promise here?

MW

Seasoning 

Bluebell is the early smell of summer, wild and soft, warmed out by sunlight that dapples the cathedral floor of a Chiltern beechwood, or let loose across open hillsides in Rannerdale.

Full summer comes savoury with the aroma of marjoram and thyme. I stir it up as I walk in chalkland meadows and relish the flavour of Mediterranean food.

The nose of cold as I walk out early to the cycle sheds on my way to morning lectures is quintessential autumn; or pungent silage, the smell that sometimes hangs over fields in the valley all day.

Winter is the invitation of Christmas spices mulled with orange and wine. Brave the cold outside to inhale winter honeysuckle – and look out for winter-active bumble bees which are also drawn to the fragrance.

And what of the scent of spring? In the depth of winter it arrived for me, boxed and sent from the Scillies. The cut narcissi flowers carried a touching message for life: Don’t expect them to last very long.

The moments to live are now. Don’t wait for spring!

AB

Spring on Q

Spring on Q like hope is eternal

There must be something maternal

Knowing the right time for optimism

That the bulbs and seeds will prism

Into a rainbow of colours so good

That they will multiply as they should.

Tiny seeds that grow into mighty trees

Renewable energy that humans sieze

To heat their homes as logs or chips

Renewable electricity is on everyone's lips

Series or parallel it goes on and on

Like the seasons that keep rolling on

The life line on my hand is long

I wish it could my life prolong

An ambition is to see 2095

By then I will be over 125

Never say die, it is the Dash

Twixt when you were born and then become Ash

Hope springs on Q

PS

St David's Day

Every year, on St David’s Day,        

I give my mother daffodils

from the greengrocer, tightly furled.

We tell each other,

“Hwyl fawr a Dydd Dewi Sant.’

And hope that along the verges,

The wild daffodils will have struggled

Through the frozen ground    

And pushed their heads through their green sleeves 

to greet us.  

This year, for the first time, mum’s   

not here, but back in the ice   

and snow of Canada. No chance  

daffodils will show their faces  

there, for St David.  

CT

Spring Woodland Painting

Lay a wash of clear, bright sky, 

Add a touch of hugging warmth.

Filigree trees splashed with fresh young green.

Busy beaks, with nests to build,

Acrobatic darts of a Brimstone or two.

Wood anemones and lesser celandines

As an explosion of light, reviving stars,

Mirroring a night sky on ochre ground

The woodland has been holding its breath

Releasing now in slow, contented sighs

To delight our eye and gladden our heart

With awakening cheer; promise and hope,

Embracing new beginnings.

Let us draw on its strength and persistence -

To do the same.

JJ

Spring

From the highest atmosphere

a flash of sunlight on a plane:

photons crash my rods and cones.

Giddy, I close my eyes to see

a light that dances mindfully.

Here’s a thrush’s eggshell found

on leaves and blossom on the ground.

And all about the vibrant air

swallows darting everywhere.

 JE