Spring, Winter’s reward
Winter’s recluse once again brings to fruition all of spring’s promise. As trees, flowers, creatures (and some humans) tuck themselves away in their beds of darkness, damp blankets embrace them while the sun completes her journey to sprinkle her rays on far away summer fruit. And as she returns so does the hint then the burst of life that comes from what looked seemingly dead. Another cycle complete, we throw the windows open, dust off the outdoor furniture and fill vases with November roses whose promise to return did not fail, or disappoint.
When the depths of winter overwhelm my soul and sensibilities, I try to remind myself that this too will change. But when I’m in the midst of it all that possibility seems far away, out of reach and sometimes unattainable. A deep heavy stone lodges in my belly and I, like all other creatures, want to crawl into my safe hiding place, away from the glare of the lights and pressure of the demands of this world, and go to sleep.
Emerging is hard, newness invokes suspicion, and trusting somehow threatens my inner tendency to self-protect. Will winter have had his way with me, and will Spring arrive again with her budding invitation to come outside and bathe in the light and fragrance of all things possible. I will only know as I open the trapdoor of my heart, and step outside the front door.
On Labour Weekend at our small beachside caravan we noticed a birds nest, precariously perched on top of a small shelf on the outside wall, just under the roof. All was still and quiet until a blackbird flew in creating pandemonium as he awakened the three baby birds who were tucked inside, who then stretched and reached as high as they could to receive the worms that the parent was delivering. Over the next 4 days we watched a cycle of activity every 20 minutes or so, a wild fluttering of feathers, reaching of beaks, frenzied feeding, desperate chirping and then a sudden quiet and still blanketed the nest.
The parent in this case was the father, distinguishable by his black, shiny feathers and bright orange beak. He had no apparent fear of us who had come to share his lodgings. We got the message that it was his place and we gladly accepted his invitation to stay, look, but not touch. Every now and then the mother, who wore a coat of brown feathers would come by and do a very quick drop-off. She was much more timid and seemingly non interested, or was it that she had decided that her hard labour of love had been satisfied by the gestation, carrying and delivery of these three blackbird chicks. She had done her share and it was his turn.
I did a lot of googling and quiet bird watching over those few days and learned a lot about the life cycle and habits of blackbirds. Apart from the wonder of nature and the privilege of sharing their space, I was reminded that their hard work of winter; building a nest, laying eggs, waiting for the arrival of their chicks followed by a relentless and faithful feeding of their young was its own reward. These chicks would fly their nest soon enough and they in turn would begin their new cycle of life.
Spring insists on Winter and creates the path to Summer where the living feels easy. Easy living is nice but doesn’t happen without the hard grind. There’s the rub.
And it’s all part of the same cycle of life, human, or bird.
