Tag: Spring

Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Group Writing: The Harbinger

 

Simple and fresh and fair from winter’s close emerging,
As if no artifice of fashion, business, politics, had ever been,
Forth from its sunny nook of shelter’d grass–innocent, golden, calm as the dawn,
The spring’s first dandelion shows its trustful face.
Walt Whitman

So many beautiful group-writing posts this month, on the topic of spring flowers. It’s my privilege to round out the total on the last day, and I’m doing so by writing about the humblest of spring flowers, one which is regarded by many as a noxious weed and garden-spoiler, but one which means the world to me.

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Quote of the Day: Thoughts of Abroad, From Home

 

Oh, to be in England
Now that April’s there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees, some morning, unaware,
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England – now!!

Perhaps it’s the fact that I can’t go to England at the moment, that makes me want to, almost more than anything. At the same time as the fact that I can’t go out and watch a movie by myself (something I do, at most, maybe two or three times a year) has suddenly become one of my greatest yearnings, even though I can’t think of one I really want to see. What is it about the human condition that makes us so extremely contrary, I wonder. “That which we are, we are,” as another Victorian poet observed. Sometimes, for the sake of my own peace of mind, I wish I weren’t, at least quite so much.

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Contributor Post Created with Sketch. Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. Passover: The Nature of Modern Slavery

 

Passover has become a very special time for me. Not only do we celebrate the Exodus of the Jews from Egypt, but it arrives at a time of new beginnings: springtime.

This year, Passover time fills my heart with mixed emotions. I will not be able to celebrate with the @iwe family in Baltimore. They have grounded my Passover observance in holiness and light, and they were central to my own personal spring/rebirth, my return to Judaism. This year I have asked my husband to participate in a mini-Seder, just the two of us, so that we might observe not only the Jews’ freedom from slavery, but also how we are called to pay attention to the real and imaginary ways that we enslave ourselves, and how we might transcend those limitations.

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The first one usually arrives in my mailbox on the day after Christmas. It’s a clever marketing ploy. Still hungover from too much turkey and sitting in December’s gray days, the prospect of a clear spring day in the garden warms the heart. I don’t recall ever signing up for seed catalogs – but now […]

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Every year I gripe about Daylight Savings Time. After I recover from the first week, I look forward to more sunlight. The sun now goes down at 7:00 here. It’s a blessing! I have just been to the doctor and my depression score has improved by five points. Spring is healing in some ways for […]

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My day for the Quote of the Day Series is Sunday, but my computer will be in the shop. So here it is, just don’t read it until Sunday! When told the reason for Daylight Savings Time, the old Indian said, “Only the government would believe that you could cut a foot off the top […]

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. A Little Local Color (Part 1): They Can’t Do That–Can They?

 

Our neighbor, I’ll call him “Tom,” showed up last week to borrow a couple tools from my husband. The trim, grey-bearded horse owner fits in well on our dirt road where all us locals are different in our own way. His expression is bemused, his humor cynical. The house number stenciled on the rock near his driveway intrigues me with the message: “Friend of Larry’s.” Like the arena owner up the road, he loves his horses but doesn’t put up with nonsense from them.

He was telling us about it as he sat in our living room chatting — first about working years at the plant, being at the union, being gypped. Then the horse story, teaching one to mind the electric fence so he wouldn’t escape again. Also, how his aged horse died and how the equine buddy left behind is pining for his old friend.

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Contributor Post Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

It is springtime, and flowers are blooming across the Northern Hemisphere. All sorts of old objects are repurposed as flower pots, but this one begs for captions. https://twitter.com/raminnasibov/status/988866448742330368?s=21 More

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It rained a lot this season in California. Lots of rain means wildflowers in the springtime. I played hooky from work today and went to the Antelope Valley to look at (and smell) the flowers. The picture is a part of a larger pano of a field near the Antelope Valley California Poppy Preserve where […]

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Recommended by Ricochet Members Created with Sketch. It’s Not Me, It’s You

 

I’m sorry, but really this breakup is final. You’ve been unfaithful to me for months, dallying with others while making only token teasing efforts in a vain attempt to convince me that you’re even still paying attention. You’ve been running hot and cold now for 3 months, only showing up when another is making her frankly more pleasant expressions of affection known. Life is too short for me to keep dealing with your teasing ways, so I’m moving on. As far as I’m concerned, our relationship ended at the holidays. You did not even show up for my birthday, instead cavorting with others hundreds of miles away. I know, I saw the pictures you were tagged in on Facebook, and the happy faces of the others whose lives you graced. I even saw them building a snowman with you when you had sworn we’d at least have a few exclusive days together in February. As far as I’m concerned, you walked out first, and I’m not taking you back.

Now again you tease and promise to fly in tonight, but we both know the only time you’ll spare is a few token hours of flirting and teasing before you melt away and leave me to clean up the mess. There will be no passion to it, just a perfunctory dance of half-remembered maneuvers. And your rival is daily flirting with me, bringing me flowers, songs, and energetic storm-tossed nights, while you rage and bellow in far off places. She caresses my hair and embraces me fondly while you slap my hands and burn my ears with your wild and now meaningless scoldings. She brightens my days with the sunshine of her presence, while your erratic arrivals cast a pall and leave behind salty trails of tears on my paths.

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Contributor Post Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

Walking in the early morning, I couldn’t help but notice the thin, stark crepe myrtles, seeming to reach for the heavens. Naked sentries, they’d been stripped of their finery of floating Spanish moss, lanky branches, their leaves long abandoned. The pre-spring ritual of preparing them for the months ahead was brutal, at first glance. But […]

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This peony was a gift by my grandfather to his mother in 1892 when he was twenty. It is in its fourth garden and going strong at 124. More

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My real estate agent bought this for me as a housewarming present when I moved in. That was June of 2000, making this azalea 16 years old now. It has grown sideways, inside the viburnum. More

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We’ve got about two inches outside and it’s still coming down. I tried to get a picture of the very annoyed bluebird outside in the snow this morning, but there was too much snow on the screen to focus through and she flew away when I stepped outside… More

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Contributor Post Created with Sketch. Member Post

 

If you consult your Funk & Wagnalls Abridged, you’ll learn that spring begins on the equinox. Then the most direct light from the sun hits the Equator, that geometric point moving on it’s journey north to the Tropic of Cancer. Then we’ll see a Solstice and then Summer for three months. That’s all useful to […]

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Late spring is the loveliest time of year around here. Early spring is harsh, and raw, and then suddenly–this. These pictures don’t do it any justice. You can’t smell the pine, feel the breeze and benevolent sun, or hear the birds. Plus I stink as a photographer.   More

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When I was first married, I commuted by bus every day from Newburyport to Boston. This was a long ride, and we passengers always sat in the same seats–every single day, morning and night. You get to know people this way. I sat behind two bankers, and they would read the Wall Street Journal all […]

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Contributor Post Created with Sketch. Here’s My Picture of Spring. Where’s Yours?

 

Photographed by Son No. 2, Nico, in Hanover, New Hampshire:

IMAG0453

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