The Splendor of Spring
Rebecca Carpenter
March 27, 2010
Filmy haze danced just above the lake in the early morning chill. A cloudless, blue tinged sky formed a canopy. I savored the serenity while I sipped my hot tea and snuggled in my wicker chair on the patio.
My personal zoo stretched before me. I delighted at the number of animals in my oak tree. Three squirrels played a game of hide and seek—up and down the trunk and out onto the limbs. A brilliantly colored blue jay swooped from the tree to the feeder—scaring away the smaller sparrows. They immediately returned each time he left and formed a circle as they ate. My favorite scarlet cardinal took his turn after calling his mate. He even dropped a seed into her mouth. A single red bellied sapsucker circled the tree while tapping at the trunk. One squirrel ventured to a small bush closer to the feeder. He gazed longingly at the tasty morsels but finally realized the gap was too far to jump and scampered away. A lone dove scavenged on the ground for dropped seeds. Along the shore, a great white egret tiptoed quietly with only his head showing. Splashing water startled me as I observed a large bird rising from the lake. In his talons was a very frightened fish that would soon be breakfast.
The “silent” morning was actually filled with a bird chorus. Melodic patterns echoed back and forth across the lake. Tweets, chirps, and caws joined together to produce a pleasant interlude. Punctuating the tune was the clicking of the cardinal.
Sunlight illuminated bright green trees showcasing the newness of spring. Streams of light highlighted the trunks of tall pines bordering the water.
The beauty of the morning captivated me. I was encased in a magical world of God’s magnificent creation. Each tree, flower, and bush added their own special touch to my private zoo with its exceptional wildlife. I longed to remain and seclude myself in its grandeur. However, the duties of the day called to me. I smiled knowing that the memories would be replayed in my mind. Even though I would not be able to stay, I could take a break wherever I might find myself to really enjoy the scenery. What wonderful surprises await me when I really open my eyes!
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Signs of Hope
Signs of Hope
Rebecca Carpenter
March 23, 2010
Since arriving home from our long trip, my sleep had been erratic and a bad cold had sapped my energy. One cool morning, I ventured onto the patio with my fuzzy robe and a cup of hot tea.
Winter in Florida had been longer and colder than any I had experienced. Normally, in March I would be wearing shorts, working in the yard, and enjoying the warm sunshine. This year was quite different.
Before Alan and I left on our month long journey, the lawn was brown and many plants were lifeless and droopy. We had been advised to not cut back any plants until March so we left hoping that some would survive.
As I peered at the lawn from my favorite patio chair, I was pleasantly surprised. Green grass had overtaken the dead, brown blades. Tiny, bright green leaves poked out on previously barren branches. A single, white African lily peeked from green leaves. The most astonishing sight was our azaleas at the edge of the patio. Before we left, their scraggly brown leaves seemed to show very damaged plants. What a transformation they had made. Each bush was swathed in colorful blooms-bright pink, variegated pink, and muted rose. They had defied the cold to harm them and burst forth with a glorious display.
Next to them, my birthday petunia also exploded with bright, pink flowers. The entire section of garden next to my favorite spot with filled with color.
In addition to the lovely landscape, I was greeted with beautiful music from a chorus of birds. My favorite red cardinal perked at the feeder as if welcoming me home. The red bellied sapsucker tapped at the oak providing percussion for the symphony.
Spring had finally arrived. Perhaps it was more stunning and cherished because of the longer, colder winter and because I had not been feeling well. Even though the landscape still held brown leaves and dead plants, hope had returned.
When we feel that all is lost, we can remember the exquisite splendor of spring.
Rebecca Carpenter
March 23, 2010
Since arriving home from our long trip, my sleep had been erratic and a bad cold had sapped my energy. One cool morning, I ventured onto the patio with my fuzzy robe and a cup of hot tea.
Winter in Florida had been longer and colder than any I had experienced. Normally, in March I would be wearing shorts, working in the yard, and enjoying the warm sunshine. This year was quite different.
Before Alan and I left on our month long journey, the lawn was brown and many plants were lifeless and droopy. We had been advised to not cut back any plants until March so we left hoping that some would survive.
As I peered at the lawn from my favorite patio chair, I was pleasantly surprised. Green grass had overtaken the dead, brown blades. Tiny, bright green leaves poked out on previously barren branches. A single, white African lily peeked from green leaves. The most astonishing sight was our azaleas at the edge of the patio. Before we left, their scraggly brown leaves seemed to show very damaged plants. What a transformation they had made. Each bush was swathed in colorful blooms-bright pink, variegated pink, and muted rose. They had defied the cold to harm them and burst forth with a glorious display.
Next to them, my birthday petunia also exploded with bright, pink flowers. The entire section of garden next to my favorite spot with filled with color.
In addition to the lovely landscape, I was greeted with beautiful music from a chorus of birds. My favorite red cardinal perked at the feeder as if welcoming me home. The red bellied sapsucker tapped at the oak providing percussion for the symphony.
Spring had finally arrived. Perhaps it was more stunning and cherished because of the longer, colder winter and because I had not been feeling well. Even though the landscape still held brown leaves and dead plants, hope had returned.
When we feel that all is lost, we can remember the exquisite splendor of spring.
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