If your yard remains covered in snow and you must don your parka to step outside, the calendar’s proclamation of the first day of spring on March 20th must have mocked you. I’m sorry. Spring came early here to the Carolinas, and I hope it will stay long. When asked my favorite season, I reply “autumn” automatically, but right now I can hardly tell you why.
There’s just something about springtime that exhilarates me. The dullness of winter is sloughed off like dead skin with an exfoliating scrub, and replaced with a vibrancy of color and light that invigorates even the laziest sluggard. Dead trees come to life; barren fields give birth to beauty; bulbs hidden underground burst free of their wintry graves. Every new bud and blossom is perfect and pure, not yet scarred by sin. No insects have nibbled on it; no drought has withered its bright green leaves. The world is alive with promise of fresh starts and re-born hopes. When else could Easter have happened? The whole earth echoes the joy of resurrection with its resonant voice, in harmony with all creation.