All of my nine children will tell you (probably with a groan) that at some point in their lives--when they were positively bursting for some wonderful event to happen--I informed them that "patience is waiting without complaining." That they'd, "appreciate it all the more," when the marvelous treat arrived.
The marvelous treat for all of us this year will be honest to goodness spring weather. Good-bye winter-- hello spring with no chilly ifs, ands, or buts!
Thanks to a warm air mass over Greenland--the possible result of climate change--spring is taking its time to arrive in the Brandywine Valley and environs. But the potential is here-- curled tightly in the fists of buds, in early robins singing on bare branches, in worm castings on the muddy soil, in the dark green leaves and sunny yellow petals of lesser celandine that carpets the side of the path beside unploughed cornfields.
Our spring chicks are fully feathered. Tiny pink combs emerge between their eyes. Although they still peep like chicks, The Girls are becoming pullets and will soon need the space and bugtacular adventures of free range chickens. But the icy drafts would put an end to them; so inside they will remain until milder weather arrives. We've finally spread compost on part of the garden and planted the peas that usually go into the ground around St Patrick's Day, but the flurry of activity must wait.
For me this delay is akin to waiting for the miracle of birth; life with all its beauty and adventures is held within each womb until the time is right. There is great power and beauty in this potential. With hope and expectation, we observe and enjoy each small movement--are more mindful of each transition. This cool spring teaches us patience. As we wait, it teaches us to be observant. It provides us with opportunities to experience each transition from potential to action--from bud to blossom--from hope to joyous welcome.