*Warning: This entry contains no mention of sex, chocolate, money, Elvis, UFOs, or Brittany Spears. It does however contain much of CathyEmily's incessant ramblings and droning on about the weather, the outdoors, the time of year, etc. In short, it will most likely have the exact opposite effect that caffeine has on you and your state of alertness. Don't say you weren't forewarned........

Seasons

I'm glad I live

Where seasons change -

I like my world

To rearrange

-anonymous

I love living on the West Coast. I love the change of seasons. I love observing the earth, the sky, the trees, the moon, the changing light as the seasons change. I derive much pleasure from experiencing the dance of winter, spring, summer and fall. I find it exhilarating, relaxing, calming, joyous...even spiritual. There is so much to experience during these seasonal changes; even the weight of the air feels different according to the time of year. The colour of the moon. The scents in the air. Colours. Sounds. The hill sides. Trees. The trees! Even weeds; the incessant strong-willed tufts of grass that jab their heads through cracks of stony grey cement; soft velvet furtive moss that lays a bridge alongside a step; the yellow teasing heads of buttercups nodding to us like beacons of sun-rays; clover waving slightly in the breeze...delicate emerald leaves with dainty purple gifts smiling like plump round faces in the summer light. The seasons. Sometimes changing softly and gracefully; other times fervently and abruptly. And at all times enchanting, sensuous and bewitching.

Our Winter is slowing fading like a small grey cloud wafting away in a late day breeze through tired trees and starved fields. Spring tentatively approaches its strength growing with each new tuft of crocuses waking up the dormant earth like a beaming alarm clock.

This entry will be my nod to the month of March. Included randomly will be March/Spring time poems that I like, quotes, musings, and more rambling that will only be of interest to me. And yes, there still will be NO mention of sex, chocolate, Elvis, UFO's or the latest movie star's plans to adopt a third world baby. Just my acknowledgement to Spring.

March comes in like a lion,
And goes out like a lamb.

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White sheep, white sheep on a blue hill.
When the wind stops, you all stand still.
When the wind blows, you walk away slow.
White sheep, white sheep, where do you go?
Christina G. Rossetti

This poem was in my grade one reader. I loved it and have never forgotten it.

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Little Robin Redbreast sat upon a tree,
Up went pussy cat, and down went he!
Down came Pussy, and away Robin ran;
Says little Robin Redbreast, "Catch me if you can!"

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a spade,
Pussy cat jumped after him, and then he was afraid.
Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did Pussy say?
Pussy cat said, "Mew, mew, mew," and Robin jumped away.

Little Robin Redbreast jumped upon a wall,
Pussy cast jumped after him, and almost got a fall!
Little Robin chirped and sang, and what did Pussy say?
Pussy cat said, "mew," and Robin flew away.
---Mother Goose---

Obviously I have a deep affection for the poems of my childhood.

"Be like the flower, turn your face to the sun."
— Kahlil Gibran

The best thing one can do when it's raining is to let it rain.
— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while.
— Kin Hubbard

When I was a child, pussy-willows were always a significant part of Spring and school. Every year the teacher always had a vase of them and usually some art activity (always on Friday afternoon) featured them in some fashion. The only time I see them now is at Granville market being sold for outrageous prices. Didn't they use to grow wild throughout the lower mainland?

Spring is the jelly beans of nature. Pockets and streams of vivid colours embellishing the earth in a startling song to awaken it from its winter rest. Fields of daffodils like yellow arrows shooting straight for the heavens. Cherry trees wearing their pink feminine blossoms hanging like earrings on a dozen long brown slim necks. The scent of the remaining exhausted autumn leaves swirled with newer greener scents of growth and renewal.

Birds. The return of certain birds. New songs outside the window.

The fierce raucous return of noisy, bold, aggressive crows. Black impudent vandals bombarding the airspace with their impertinent saucy attitude.

Showers. Puddles. Dripping umbrellas. Mud. Soggy fields.

Sun. Rainbows. Slate-grey skies illuminated by a high bright far off sun.

There's a raw pink clump of rhubarb unfurling in my garden like a lone seashell beckoning to the stars.

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Easter Bonnets. Does anyone else remember that making Easter bonnets was a annual art activity in elementary school?

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I like Spring. I like watching the earth slowly wake up and stretch out it's limbs in a colourful array of blossoms, buds, and tender sprigs. Yet it also makes me feel sad to see winter slipping away and retreating for another year.