Posts Tagged ‘spring’


More than enough

Posted: February 27, 2018 in Nature, Writing
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Today spring knocks on my door.  The sun shines, the wind, instead of throwing winter in my face, whispers, “Soon.  Soon.”  Getting out of the car, I shed one sweatshirt, then put my jacket back on, still warm enough.  Gloves go into pockets a few minutes later. 

 The river still overflows its banks after rain on top of snow some days earlier, a log jam of nature’s detritus pushing against the dam.  Water jets out the other side where today no heron fishes, but sunshine sparkles on the rushing water.

 A squirrel sits frozen next to the path, not moving until I do, then scampering further along the mat of brown fall leaves.  Although the prevailing color is still brown, a closer look reveals slender shoots of green and in some places, blatant leaves of some unknown but hardy plant.  In my lawn perhaps it would be a weed, but here a welcome sign of spring.  Red-winged blackbirds make their presence loudly known, although in fewer numbers than in another month or two. 

Next to the damp path, mud and water discourage off-trail wandering.  When I reach the open part of the trail, I think how good it will be once the trees leaf, blocking the houses on the park perimeter so I feel even less part of the city.  I realize again how this time alone, away from people and city trappings, is a vital part of my inner peace, nature stopping me from even acknowledging the unceasing sounds of traffic.  I spread my arms with uncontainable joy, turning in a circle near where the tracks of deer crossed the path, the softer surface exposing the paths the summer trail hides.  I know winter might come again, but there is the beating promise, under the skin of the earth, of spring, of growth, of re-birth,  and that, for today, is more than enough.

© janet m. webb

Can a heart have thoughts?  It must, because with the snow melting, the weather warming, the sun out, my fancies turn not to love (I’m blessed to already have that), but to spring.  To that warmth that isn’t really warm except by contrast.  To the brave bits of bright colors peeping out from under all those neutrals.  To the life lurking under all that mud.  To the sounds of birds and dripping water.  To the rebirth of life.

This is what my heart sees.

© janet m. webb

Spring Sunshine

I position my chair in the sunlight streaming through the front window,
the rest of the house behind me
chill in its winter-to-spring transition.

The heat soaks into my grey fleece top
gradually seeping its welcome way through my skin,
into my bones and the center of my body.

Bushes bow slightly before the wind,
waiting to shed their winter bareness for the new growth of spring,
each bare, brown sword-branch tipped with green.

On the porch, a chipmunk overlooks the buttery daffodils and fragile narcissus
ever so slowly raising their rain-battered heads
from soaked obeisance into erect beauty.

Two goldfinches swoop down, perching in the largest bush,
tiny bird-lanterns heralding the start of another Saturday
as a cloud ship moves regally through the sky ocean.


© janet m. webb


Posted: April 22, 2017 in Nature
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Spring has finally flown in.

© janet m. webb 2017

Happy Easter!

Posted: April 16, 2017 in flowers
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© janet m. webb 2016