The opening of spring was not a matter determined by mankind’s calendar, nor simply by the angle of the sun. It takes on reality only when one feels free to fling open his windows and let spring, with all her flowery perfume, accompanied by a choir of inspired bird songs, come flowing in and flush away the lethargy of a tired winter.
The unfolding of the season cannot be depended upon to arrive on the dates inscribed on calendars. Its appearance is better recognized when the sulphur and molasses, the turpentine or castor oil of man, are replaced by Nature’s magic tonic that comes in her medicine bag of uninterrupted bright sunshine and thawing warmth.
Not until the swallows are on the wing will the air begin to bear the intoxicating perfumes of jasmine and dogwood along with sphagnum moss tucked in the bosom of a living earth. Not until the Ides of April are on us does spring get really serious about its lavish dispensing of sunshine and bliss, laden with gifts of fresh tenderness of awakening greenery. Then the earth comes fully alert, vivid with fresh bouquets of awakening rose and shad bush, apple and plum tree dancing in the wind and sun. Nature reminds us when bluebirds sing, life is good.