Spring. The Only Time of the Year When It Appears I Know What I’m Doing.

A few wags will note my whining earlier this year about grass. I won’t deny the charge. Nothing so beleaguers me as the thought of once again having to re-seed the lawn. However, having completed that annual act of contrition to the Gods of suburbia, I can now sit back (I wish) and reap what I have sown.

Kinda…

Maybe…

I did, in fact, place the plants within the bosom of mother Earth, and I have tried to keep them alive and trimmed; they grow like crazy up here, as best I can.

But Nature, feeling the need to show off, blows the roof off the dump this time of year with bright greens, brilliant reds, yellows, and pinks, and sprouts flowers hither and yon. It’s quite lovely.

And if I get the occasional huzzah when it comes to the yard. I accept the compliment even if I had only a minor part, as it will ease the difficulties to come throughout the rest of the year with weeding, minus pesticides, watering, when there’s no hint of rain for months, and the dreaded autumn cleanup with raking and raking, and… wait for it… raking. No exactly thrillsville.

Some, naturally, will ask why bother with any of it? And it’s a good question. Mostly because I’m a control freak and because if I can wield unquestioned control over something, even if that’s complete idiocy on my part, it keeps me going. You can’t say that for any other part of our humble existence.

Or maybe you can, but…

It is, if nothing else, a momentary expression of something that’s, as ephemeral as life is, as beautiful a package as you’re going to find. There is nothing as salving to a cold over-wintered soul as new buds on the trees, flowers sprouting, and the explosion of color.

I’m ok with my small part.

©2019 David William Pearce

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