With the weather going from freezing to swimming pool weather all in the same week lately our seasonal body clocks have to be in a lot of turmoil. Fortunately the warmer temperatures seem to be counting for more days than the cold ones and my seasonal clock couldn’t be happier. If you have read many of my columns this past year you know my wife and like the weather best when it allows us to get outside. We are in fact professional porch setters summer or winter, but for me it is mainly in warmer times. My wife on the other hand would sit on the porch during a snow storm. Last Tuesday the temperature was over seventy, but was very windy and not ideal porch sitting weather, but with my wife’s insistence, and a hooded jacket I found myself on the porch with a hot cup of coffee and a cookie. (my wife knows my weaknesses)
I have to admit that I enjoyed the time on the porch as seen through the folds of my hood. A group of robins newly arrived I assume hopped around the yard searching for worms that have been buried all winter. The trees were showing buds, that we must worry about until the threat of freezing temperatures is behind us, and patches of green grass mixed with dead grass from last year made the yard look like a patch work rug.
A yellow bush at the corner of the house is fully bloomed as if to say “I’m ready for spring now!” A prematurely green honeysuckle vine draped over our fence along the driveway seems to echo the sentiment. In fact the whole five acres of our little farm seems to be in favor of an early spring.
As my wife and I sat on the porch sipping coffee, and watching the birds, and all the other wonders of nature I felt the poetry of the season. I wrote a poem about the coming of spring years ago, and I pull it out every year at this time. I hope you will enjoy.
I await the greenery the finery of spring.
I await the blossomed tree renewed alive again.
I await the calling song of whippoorwills at night.
I await impatiently that lengthening of light.
I await a warming breeze kissed by a summer sun.
I await that feel of ease when winter’s time is done.
I am flower wet with dew;
a bird in search of mate
I am season alive and new,
no longer can I wait.
— Jack Miller is a longtime Sedalia resident whose column will run in the Weekend edition of the Democrat.