"Springtime, sweet springtime, we greet thee with song!" That is a line from the song we sang at my high school graduation. When the birds are singing the day in now, I fancy I can hear echoes coming from our music practicing room. There were not outstanding singers, but the robust exuberance we felt for the new season made up for any musical flaws.
Everything was new, yet there were old trees, old shrubs, old fields. It was in these fields where we could actually see new, moving life - new-born calves getting steady on their feet, a new colt or two, little woolly sheep, tiny brown rabbits exploring their new world. One could feel the heartbeat of the world, long to hold some form of life and feel the continuity of life.
So, what better than holding a day-old baby and feeling the new life in it, stroke its head, uncurl its tiny fingers and toes! Not since my granddaughter Lauren was born have I had that experience.
Little cherubic Victoria Marie, Viney's grandchild, came into our lives. Yes, the same vivacious, versatile, victorious Viney. Let's add another "V," vividly happy.
That event, of course, moved me up a notch in family relationships. I need a new sweatshirt that declares my new status.
Everything was very tender and touching -- the new happy gleam in mother Ellie's eyes, the tears rolling down Papa Glenn's face as he was handed his first child. Steve moved in and out and roundabout, lending support and, no doubt, remembering when little Lauren was first placed in his arms -- little Lauren, now way up in her chosen field, communications therapy.
I often hold up the image of life being a work in progress, weaving an unrolling pictorial tapestry. Each person who has ever lived has threads in the picture. If I could ever detect mine, I hope the colors are bright.
Now some new threads are beginning, thousands and thousands of them. We stand by and watch the design unfold and pray, when finished, the Creator of it can call it good.
New things around here are hanging pots of flowers, which Mary and Leta have arranged. Not new, but new in height this year, are the irises, especially the white ones, that are almost shoulder high. I'm watching for the nest-building robins to fly down and snip off a piece of a petal to incorporate in the nest. Some naturalist, probably Hal Borland, has noticed that many birds finish off their nests with something white, usually a feather. I wonder when the robins will learn that the white petal pieces won't stay white very long.
Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.