Springtime here seems to emerge like fall in reverse: Leaves go from red, orange, gold – to green. And the green grass is so bright, it is sometimes iridescent. Blossoms are everywhere – white, soft pink, strawberry, magenta, deep purple. The doe-eyed Jersey calves run and leap around the pasture dotted with violets and the glowing yellow-orange faces of buttercups.
On Sundays, we like to walk through the woods to the creek. We sit on the bridge, dangling our legs, and watch the geese dip and glide through the cold, clear water. Smooth stones sunk into the muddy creek bed are striped by narrow bands of shade cast by thin branches reaching out over the water. A rooster crows from somewhere on the other side of the creek – one of our neighbors must have acquired chickens recently.
As we walk, Brian points out various plants from the abundance of greenery, teaching me: Chickweed, plantain, jewelweed, onion grass, cleavers, yarrow, purple vetch. We pass by a group of pigs lounging in the sun in a clearing, one of them is lying on her belly in the mud, her legs splayed out behind her.
I hold all these things in my mind today, savoring them, as a torrential rain pours down, soaking everything. The other face of Springtime.