In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?

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Spring in a bottle


The last ten days has been like watching spring on a time-lapse.
The first few days I was wearing long sleeves, and walking or sitting outdoors, trying to catch the sun-rays while avoiding the wind. The last few days have been changing into shorts and tank as soon as I'm free, and heading out to hike the park trails in seventy and eighty degree weather.
The quality of light has been charging my mind with childhood memories, and literary flash-backs: everything from Make Way for Ducklings to the Ashtown Burials Series.
I can't believe I hadn't discovered the beauty of my nearest park before now. But I've recently been exploring, and the trails go on way further than I thought. I've been tramping the trails while listening to The Dragon's Tooth on audio--some multi-action in the way of good books & adventure inspiration, exercise & fresh air, and massive intake of nature surrounding. (Don't worry, I sometimes stop the audio and just listen to the wild.)
Just in the last ten days or so, the lakes have gone from frozen over to thawed and shimmering; the marshes have woken up to a cacophony of frog-singing, and the ponds are again the paddle-pools of the ducks. The mallards are everywhere, and I even came upon a woodie pair or two the other day.
The grass turned green with those first magical rains last week. The dragonflies can be seen flitting about, and I saw a butterfly too. One of those first days I saw eight beaver out on the thawing ice, and yesterday I saw a muskrat swimming along in the thawed, warming water. Swallows swoop about, loons dive into the lake. The swans were out early, but now I think are gone. Moss greens and thickens, trees shimmer into pale green; pussy-willows come out, and bushes flower. Dandelions, creeping charlie, and violets bloom on the sunny verges and against the protected walls of houses. Now the daffodils and tulips come alive in peoples gardens as I pass. My skin darkens.
Birdsong greets me in the early hours of the morning, friends in the dawn. Their chatter surrounds me as I walk trails or sit beside the creek. Robins sing their piercing evening-song as I read on the porch at sunset, and soon night-hawks will screech their protests to the night.

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