Hello hello and happiest springtime! Mildly amused that the last time I wrote here it was at least partially the product of a pre-work morning dog walk. Because on yesterdayâs pre-work morning dog walk (probably at the same park) I remembered this poem.1
And wouldnât you know, the trees really are blossoming, and the lilacs really are budding, and I saw my first dandelions of the season and everything2 smells like fresh cut grass. Also, the pickleball players were back.
So letâs just say in 2024, my suddenly spring moment was April 16th. Letâs revisit this little poem from Beneath the Flood, shall we?3
Suddenly, Spring
Every spring, there is the one day
(this year, April 6)
when I spy the dramatic change
in pink-petaled trees
on Thayer Street
and I struggle to remember
the names of the raucous yellow
blossoms on shrubs,
so I google âYellow blossoms
New England,â
(itâs forsythia, by the way
)and then I see daffodils everywhere
and red buds on my neighborâs tree
and the lilac limbs growing heavy
for the next round of blooming.
This is the day I remember
how much I forget
year after year,
and I write a little poem
so I wonât forget again,
even though I know I will,
even though the surprise
is part of the joy.
Astute readers who want to check the archives will find that I already posted this poem⌠exactly a year ago? Ah well. I guess April 16th is the day I remember how much I forget. ÂŻ\_(ă)_/ÂŻ
Everything, including my dog.
Beneath the Floodâs first book birthday is coming up next month, btw. What does one even do to celebrate a book birthday? If I think of something, I will let you know.
I love that the forgetting extends even to the sharing of the poem, and then itâs all new againâthe Spring and the poem alike! đĽ°
Beautiful. Yes, it never gets old!