Lord of the Springtime

Father of Flower

“Lord of the springtime, Father of flower, field and fruit, smile on us in these earnest days when the work is heavy and the toil wearisome, lift up our hearts, O God, to the things worthwhile—sunshine and night, the dripping rain, the song of birds, books and music, and the voices of our friends. Lift up our hearts to these this [morning] and grant us Thy peace. Amen.”

                                      W.E.B Du Bois (Earth Prayers)

Spring came during the night with a rush of cold air, rain and sleet. Guess she danced a tango with Winter as they were crossing paths. The red-buds are blooming in spite of it, as are the oaks and pines, so allergy season is upon us here in the deep South. We will have a month of green cars, porches and yard furniture. We will take our antihistamines and go outside anyway, because it's Spring and how can you miss that? I wonder if this season is the same everywhere—smiling, red-nosed people, reveling in a green fog.

This week seems to have flown by. I am back in my house with plumbing that works, at least for the moment. I'll light the Virgin of Guadeloupe candle to keep it going—she probably understands plumbing problems better than her famous son. Speaking of whom, this Sunday marks the beginning of Holy Week in the Christian world. We will wave those palm fronds and sing hosanna. There won't be anything the least bit holy about the commercial excess of Easter, but our economy will feel the love. It, at least, has experienced a partial resurrection, and for that we give thanks.

My grandmother always planted her garden on Good Friday, but this year seems a little dicey to me. I suspect that most people in the Northern Hemisphere would need a backhoe to dig up the frozen ground. But soon, children, soon those seeds can come out of their packets and be distributed in neat little rows and before you know it, you'll be eating yellow squash and green beans and red-ripe tomatoes. You'll open the windows and have flowers in the house, and life will be good. The mocking birds are ready. They are outside right now, freezing their little tail-feathers and singing like drunk sailors. I'd love to know the words to their swooning love songs. Or...maybe not.

May this first day of Spring be a blessing and a blast for you. May you feel the sunshine on your face, and the green, vital lushness of the coming days in your heart. And may you have the peace that comes from the Father of Flower and from Mother Earth.

                                          In the spirit,

                                             Jane