By Carrie Jacobson

Winter spins here into spring, picking up the old dead leaves and whirling them into the woods, releasing the plants and greenery beneath. Primroses poke up early, immune to frost and pounding rain and the late, bad-surprise snows. This winter took its toll on year-old forsythia, grocery-store azaleas, and the roses that ended up beneath the snowplow’s piles, but all seem to be scrabbling back into some form of life.

At dawn, the air resounds with the songs of hundreds of birds returning to their summer trees. Flickas peck at fallen seeds, goldfinches flit and glitter on the thistle, and blue jays scream at each return of the red-tailed hawks to their nest beside the driveway.

Along the reservoir, the early mornings are sometimes softened by fog, and wisps of clouds, and sea-smoke rising from the night-cool water. And on these past few evenings, the April moon has risen huge and close and brilliant in the coming cool of night.

We never know how many springs remain, and so I remind myself to stop in these too-busy days, and smell the air, feel the soft earth, listen as this longed-for spring unfolds.

This painting is oil on canvas, 16×20. If you’re interested in price and delivery details, please email me at carrieBjacobson@gmail.com

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This entry was posted on Friday, April 15th, 2011 at 10:22 am and is filed under Carrie Jacobson. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.