Loveliest of TreesLoveliest of trees, the cherry nowIs hung with bloom along the bough,And stands about the woodland rideWearing white for Eastertide.Now, of my threescore years and ten,Twenty will not come again,And take from seventy springs a score,It only leaves me fifty more.And since to look at things in bloomFifty springs are little room,About the woodlands I will goTo see the cherry hung with snow.A.E. Housman
I happened upon this poem the other day and it spoke to me. Spring is certainly here and I feel a need to notice it this year. Maybe it's the artist in me waking up and finally learning how to see, maybe it's because my grey hair seems more prominent this year, I don't know, but I am just loving the blossoming spring outside my door. I never dreamed I'd ever derive such pleasure from watching a simple sparrow flit about under a bush going about her business. I can't wait until the apple trees bloom in the orchard. Does this mean I'm becoming an old lady? Maybe so. So I've decided that television can wait. Celebrity gossip can wait. Even (gasp!) the computer can wait. But spring won't wait. It will march right along and get lost inside summer. And I for one don't want to miss it.