The Spring Is Sprung
When I was at school we had to learn a poem a month for English and recite it to the class…..Yes I am old. We had to write it out in italics too, neatly….My italic nib and I were constantly at odds with each other and even today I can remember with mortification, the smudges from the Indian Blue-Black Permanent Ink by Quink.
But my favorite Spring Ode has got to be one my grandfather used to recite whilst walking along the country lanes lopping the tops off cow parsley with his stick, in a Chaplinesque type mannerThe Spring Is Sprung, The Grass is Riz, I wonder where the Birdies is…
Well up until very recently I have been wondering, like many of you picnic seasonnaires, where The SUNSHINE IS!!
I couldn’t possibly comment on all this global warming stuff , I’ll leave that to the professionals. I am a little cynical about it all, I think they lost me that year when the trains were delayed because of the unexpected leaves on the track, or that summer when the hose pipe ban couldn’t be lifted because it was The Wrong Sort Of Rain
…… I think we had the Wrong Sort Of Snow, one year, too. Certainly a minister for snow was installed in Parliament. The records for this and that, too cold, too wet, are constantly being broken, If the weather was in the Olympics it would win a Gold medal in at least 5 different disciplines.
All I know is my finger has been hovering over the central heating button with alarming regularity, hesitant to press because of the cost but reluctant to pile on another jumper.
A few days ago, I discovered how utterly confused this season has been when on a walk with the dogs. A familiaplace in West End in Esher which, although I have visited many times before, I don’t think has ever looked sbeautiful. Well known for its Bluebell glades and rhododendron bushes I have never seen both at their best, in full bloom, together.
What better excuse than to take a picnic down there yesterday and watch the Spring Sprunging its heart out.. I could almost hear the flowers grow. I could certainly smell the wild garlic., with its pungent aroma reminding me of a Sunday roast
It was bliss to sit amongst the blue bells and wild flowers
The old adage from Carl Sandberg, came to mind…Time is the coin of your life, be careful lest you let others spend it for you. I will certainly be spending all my savings myself.