...with a little Celtic Irish drummer in my head and a tiny dancer in my soul.

I am not old. In fact, some might call me still young. I am 32 in fact (I think...perhaps I am 31 or 33...I can never keep track.)  I often feel old though.  Perhaps it is the 4 babies I have grown and carried and the 3 surgeries that went with them, but my body feels the aches and pains and creaks and plain old aging of the old.  When I feel age, it makes me think ahead, and while I am not particularly scared of death, I don't particularly like to think about it.

Perhaps that is why I like spring.

When I was a teenager, fall was hands down my favorite season. 
The football games, the banging of the marching band cadence,  sweatshirt and jean weather.  
I loved walking through the crunchy leaves upon the sidewalk and the forced cuddling 
cooler weather required of whichever boyfriend was mine at the time. 

 There was something sweet in the air, a cooling off from summer, a release from fun into the schedule of schooling.  
I liked it.  I still like it, but there is another season that has passed up fall by leaps and bounds.

It is the spring of life each March, April and even June.  
It is the hunt for tiny sprouts and the careful managing of minuscule seeds.  
It is the beginning of everything and death holds no hold on anything.

Perhaps it is the birthing of babies that drives this maternal instinct to see things born and raised.  Perhaps it is just the passing of time and the aging of myself that causes me to celebrate more heartily the beginning and not the end  of things.  Perhaps it is simply my passion for the garden and my gratefulness that the long winter has passed and I can start playing again.

Whatever the cause, spring is the reason.  I run around with a little Celtic Irish drummer in my head and a tiny dancer in my soul, all for the joy of pushing seeds into soil.  I feel more joy than a stockbroker with a  peaking line graph in hand when I have a new trowel and sharp clippers in mine.  The first shoots of each group of plants, pushing up through the soil each spring, are mini-celebrations each time they are sought after and seen.  It is a race with no pressure -- a joy with no downside -- an addiction with no backlash, save a few dirty fingernails.

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Laura said…
I like your spring post...it's good to hear what you love about it. Where I live in Wisconsin we have usually only a few weeks (at most) of spring before we jump into summer, so it's neat to hear from someone who experiences a real spring. I still love fall the best, though! I hope it's still a special season for you. And p.s. we are the same age...were you class of 2000?
Amy Renea said…
1999!! and OH I hate the springs when there isn't much of a spring!! It makes me so very sad when summer comes in a hurry!