An Observation from Miss Emily Dickinson

The snow is gone. The sun has been out the past few days. At one point it even warmed up to the mid-40’s outside! Some of the grass in protected areas has begun to grow and green up and the glorious color of chlorophyll has done something to the chemicals of my brain. As Emily says, it is barely March and yet my brain has gone to feverishly planning and planting imaginary gardens in my head. You would think that digging dirt with a shovel in your mind would be soothing, like counting sheep, and put me right to sleep. Wrong! All it does is key me up even more because I am so excited for the time when the soil will be malleable and warming, when I can start planting seeds in it and see the lush, green life that sprouts under my finger tips.

And yet, the weather forecast says we are not out of the white woods yet. We may have snow again. Sighhhhh.

Take it away Miss Emily. You say it best.

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period ā€”
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay ā€”

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.


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