JOY ALONG THE WAY: EARLY ALARM CLOCKS OF SPRING ALREADY RINGING

Spring's alarm clocks have gone off before what man's calendars had set as the time for them. Winds swish around the house corners and across the yard, vacuuming leftover debris from last Fall's cleaning. They seem to say, "Remember us? We're always here in March."

Forsythia and jonquils dot the town as if the heating pots of sunshine have boiled over and left these bright yellow drippings on the greening earth. One looks at them in appreciative wonder but thinks, aren't you a bit early this year?

Then, some source tending the sunshine pots scatters a quick little snow to turn down the heat. This, maybe, is an attempt to re-set spring's clocks. But such measures cannot stop the big surge for long.

I have some sugar maples and where last May's stormtwisted off some limbs, "tear sap" is dripping as if the trees are just now beginning to grieve over the loss of limbs.

I mosey over to the hedgerow to see if the poke is poking through the ground where I know it sleeps over winter. It is still asleep, but chickweed is up and running like a healthy, long distance runner.

Rhubarb, no doubt, is unfurling in some local gardens, but those long, rosy stalks are to be found now in the grocery stores. I cook a couple stalks to satisfy my teeth to bite into all the spring goodies to come.

There are just enough of cold, winter days to make us forget how good the spring things are and we are pleasantly surprised all over again.

I have a new bird bath for my feathered co-existers to enjoy. Already a robin and a blue jay have taken little experimental baths, not big splashy ones like, say in July or August, but just enough to remind one of coming joys.

Tinkling wind chimes may be re-established. Such chimes reached their peak of popularity a few years ago. Then, thinking they may be annoying to neighbors, they came down, all over town. But with the political rhetoric of the presidential choosing year heating up, we're going to need something to help drown that out, or at least afford an accompaniment.

I was awakened a few mornings ago by a springtime roll of thunder. "The equinox," I said sleepily. Has the sun crossed the line too early? "'S'allright with me." I said and went back to sleep, awaiting for the robins' announcement that a new day was in the making.

A new day! What a gift! I'll help those March winds clean up the yard by calling in someone to banish the 1001 sweet gum balls. I'll gather a great big bouquet of the yellow flowers and put them in a blue vase. I'll cook some of the store "boughten" rhubarb and serve myself a helping in a little green dish. I'll take some books from the shelf and read again, Richard Jefferies" "A Hundred Years of Stars and Violets," and "Follow Your Nose," by David Grayson. I'll also reach for the old Gospel Hymns, copyrighted in 1883, and choose a song to hum on and off all day such as "near the Cross" or "More Love to Thee, O Christ."

REJOICE!

Jean Bell Mosley is an author and longtime resident of Cape Girardeau.