“Spring has sprung, the grass is riz,
I wonder where the little birdies iz.”
Spring: The time of year when hope springs anew in the human breast. Baseball begins in Florida and all is good when ball meets wood.
The hardy crocus pops its nose through frosty ground, giving us advance notice of things to come. Buds appear on the bare trees, and the red, red robin comes bob, bob, bobbing along.
But spring is tricky. The sun shines brightly but emits little heat. It rains a lot.
Mostly, I think, spring is a state of mind - a harbinger of delightful days to come. Occasionally a magical spring lingers long among us, but too frequently a wintry chill and the accompanying rains mask the wonder of nature’s rebirth.
The calendar allots spring three months, but spring always seems too short. It usually just happens. One day, it is cold and rainy, and the next day, everything is in bloom and we’re left to wonder what happened!
Many the times Miss Spring has cheated us of a prolonged season that is her due. We want more time to appreciate the time when our Earth rouses herself from her seasonal torpor to assure us of the continuation of time.
It is the time of Easter bunnies and Easter bonnets and the Easter Parade on Fifth Avenue. It is the time for spring cleaning and for stashing things we won’t need again for a while.
Yawning and blinking, we emerge from hibernation to reintroduce ourselves to our neighbors and maybe wash the car. We welcome our annual dose of “spring fever” when manana assumes its special significance.
Best of all, it is the time of year, the poets say, when a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love. And what’s wrong with that?
Let’s go, Mets!
John Klumpp
Sparta