Reflections on Life, Love, and the Softness of Spring

Seedlings fall from trees. Oak, ash, maple. Parchment thin, helicopters twirl with ballerina steps. Wisps of spent spring blooms land atop my Springer Spaniel’s ears. Peacefully, she lays in new-mown grass. Ears perked, my spaniel listens to chirping robins and trumpeting geese. She rolls this way and that in the spring green lawn, wet after a sudden, sunset rain shower.

It is the twilight of my fifty-fifth year on this magnificent earth. I am thinking about those I love who have passed. Approaching storm clouds on the distant horizon color my reflections in surreal shades of violet sadness and pale pink light. I inhale the scent of lilacs. Sweetness intensifies with encroaching rain. Thick with pollen, the air is only beginning to soften after the hardness of a cold winter.

I am content with memory. Satisfied with the present moment, simple and soft; lulled by wine and the air sound of lake gulls and geese, ducks and doves that mourn. Melancholy and remembrance entwine with burgeoning ivy that trails on musty earth.

My thoughts turn to a moment spent in an Irish field with someone I love. Foxglove and delphinium grew along the banks of forgotten streams. She told me the sad story of her aunt, a young girl, who drowned in a shallow pool and was found staring toward the innocence of a spring blue sky. Two years and ten months was all the girl had on this earth. Such a short time to watch the lambs play in the field.

Tonight, I think back on the fleeting hour I spent in that same field listening to phantom voices from June 12, 1912, when the air was rich with dreams. A day in late spring when the sun set with finality. Mary, I hope my verse gives you rest.

● Susan holds a Master’s Degree in English from John Carroll University and a Master’s Degree in Education from Baldwin-Wallace University. She may be contacted at [email protected].