Spring heralds hopeful, joyful journey
Spring! It has finally happened.
No matter the weather, it's locked in on the calendar — that small square that says, “Equinox.” Equinox — translated from Latin as equal night — means light and dark are balancing out. It is actually a time, the moment that the sun sits directly above the equator. This year marks the earliest vernal equinox in 128 years. How many of us know we are making history?
The Northern Hemisphere is about to dance in the light. And don't the little spring peepers, also known as chorus frogs, know it? Just an inch- to an inch-and-a-half long, in a supreme effort to attract a female, these guys can inflate their vocal sacs to triple the size of their heads, and be heard over a mile away. Driving home the other evening with the window down, as we neared a wetlands area the peepers were practically deafening.
Spring peepers survive the winter because their body partially freezes — and stops their heart and breathing — during their hibernation. Once they feel the earth warming, voila, they come to life. During mating season they prefer vernal pools (temporary standing water) that are free from predator fish.
Out walking this morning I had a robin friend perch nearby. Sighting that first one after a winter's absence is always a "wow" moment. For me this year that was the end of January. I felt my spirit leap — even in that long string of foggy days when spring seemed forever obscured.
The barn swallows showed up the other day. Before I discovered they were chasing bugs, I used to imagine them on a gigantic playground in the sky diving and swooping in sheer fun. Sometimes the practical stuff adds a period, where there should be an exclamation.
The neighbor has yellow and purple crocuses in bloom. I was astonished. Higher up, we are only now seeing the first daffodil shoots. Color is still a dream. How is it I can be with someone all day, and not be able to describe what that person was wearing? And yet when it comes to a flower, I've got it down.
Those small orange-and-black butterflies are fluttering in the sun. I typed in the color and a list of 43 choices popped up. I think they are red admirals. What is it about a butterfly that is so inviting? Maybe their carefree flitting, and their gentle manner. I can learn much from the animal kingdom.
These are just the front-row heralds of spring — my favorite season. March is the threshold for April, May, and June. It gets better and better — a hopeful, joyful story emerging. I don't want to miss a thing.
I see it all as God's creation revealed, not something to dismiss. Other seasons will follow — each with its own gifts. I will find the beauty there too, maybe with more struggle. But there is something about spring that gives voice to my soul — like those peepers who sing much bigger than they really are.