Sunday, April 22, 2007


Nothing is so beaut
iful as spring - when weeds, in wheels, shoot long and lovely and lush; Thrush's eggs look little low heavens, and thrush through the echoing timber does so rinse and wring the ear, it strikes like lightning to hear him sing.
Gerard Manley Hopkins - the POET

Claude Monet - the PAINTER - "Spring"

Vivaldi - the COMPOSER

What is more beautiful than the Spring Allegro movement of The Four Seasons played on the violin by Nigel Kennedy, the PERFORMER

And then there are the GARDENERS - Artis
ts in their own right!!

Although most assuredly they rely heavily on the Master Gardener, and the gifts the earth gives so bountifull
y to we who travel through space on this beautiful planet. What a complexity this growing situation is, - the rest in winter to gather strength for the spectacular greening of the spring, - the years involved in composting the remainders from other seasons that results in the richness of the soil that nurtures the seeds, - the intricate positioning of the planet in respect to the sun to provide for the warming that wakens the seed, and the rain that brings sustenance and moisture to start the whole growing process.

Hairy Potter and the Horticulturist's Apprentice have nothing on the mysterious ways of the CREATOR.

The birds that come to this valley in the spring of the year delight and amaze as they go about their yearly season of pr

The cheery Robins who chatter with excitement at the prospect of WORMS to be found in the wake of the sprinkler on the garden - and the Clarke's Nutcrackers, who call in their crackly voices and eat up last year's walnuts that are left in the new sprung grass.

The Mourning Dove, whose yearning call reminds me of spring on the farm, where they were so prevalent and nested in the trees which surrounded the farmhouse.

And the Meadowlark - everyone in the family listens for the first call of the Meadowlark, - a true harbinger of spring. I sometimes muse and wonder if the Meadowlark will sing his song above my grave .

High above the valley in the springtime a lone Eagle flies, - or sometimes a nesting pair. And the Osprey swoops down river, looking for a good breakfast.

The BIRDS are poetry in motion, and music at its most pure.

Our hearts should burst with gratefulness.......

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