2017
two thousand seventeen
Twenty-Seventeen
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C.A. Stahr My calendar tells me it is now spring. Yet, here I sit cozily in my living room with a lovely heat emanating from the gas logs in my fireplace and watch the snow drifting softly to join the many piles still residing in my lawn. Ah, spring! There are three oft-employed adages which hold very little credence for me. They are: “The Ground Hog Saw (or did not see) His Shadow,” “March Comes in Like a Lion and Goes Out Like a Lamb (or vice versa),” and “The First Day of Spring (as it appears on the calendar).” Now, I am not a curmudgeon. In fact, I fancy myself a true optimist with a tremendous zest for life and all it offers. However, as a realist, as well, I just know that these clever little sayings and the placement of “Spring” on the calendar are just so much falderal. I mean, you just can’t count on them. Still, there are some elements of nature that continually believe in spring before it actually becomes keenly evident. Witness, little daffodil stems pushing up through the snow, reaching hungrily for the sun. There they are beneath my dining room window, sheltered by the el of my cozy little house. Already, they have risen nearly three inches. Do they know something that I don’t know ~~ or have they arrived a bit too early and will they be frozen before they are able to declare their most welcome brilliance? I’m surely rooting for the daffodils. Spring time is a time of renewal. I pull in lungs full of fresh crisp air. Even before the trees begin dressing up for the season, I revel in the warmth of the sun on my face and arms. I delight in casting off the heavy coat and boots and hat and gloves. I marvel at that sun as it performs its annual ritual of warming up the earth, and nourishing the charming plants and buds as they prepare for their seasonal show. I drive through the country where fields have been freshly plowed and the pungent scent of newly turned earth is nothing less than an aphrodisiac. Yards of mulch arrive in my drive as directed ~ to beautify and nourish my many gardens. Moving all that mulch is hard work, but worth the effort; for I do love a crisp, vibrant and “weed-less” landscape. I trim and edge and pluck weeds as they persist throughout the season. And each year I attend my gardens with added fervor. I resume taking walks along the Erie Canal. This is the time to get my winter-lethargic body tuned up. My walks aren’t as long as they used to be, but they still feel good and do wonders for my agility and stamina. My mind works busily while I walk. I plan and scheme and create as I saunter along. Some of it is lost by the time I get to my computer, but the essence remains and I build from that. I am engaged. My writing is lively and sometimes clever and satisfying to me. So, hurry up, Spring. We are all waiting ~ impatiently. It has been a very long, very cold winter and we are yearning to gamely emerge and put a lively spring back in our steps.

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