Songs of Spring

Anyone who’s been within earshot of a Nova Scotia pond on a late May evening knows better than to describe the sounds heard as frogs croaking. Though these little green amphibians may grunt and grumble while lazing in the water alone on a warm afternoon, when evening falls and they come together around the shores and among the reeds, they sing. The cool night air fills with sweet notes, sharp and clear: nature’s choir, heralding hope and new life — the songs of spring.

It comes with reluctance in the Maritimes, holding back; taunting; maybe shy. Then suddenly, spring breaks through, erupting in full colour. Deep scarlet adorns the red maples. There are rose pink crabapple blossoms, bright yellow forsythia, lilies, blue flags, and purple clusters of lilacs.

Enticed by rain showers and warmth from the sun, new leaves, tender and bright, peek out from their buds. Once satisfied that all is ready, they emerge quickly, as though making up for lost time. They clothe every shrub and tree in shades of rich green, lush and moist. The foliage becomes so thick — bulging — it’s as if the forests can’t contain its own, and all will burst, any minute, out of its bounds, into the fields and onto the roads.

Deep in the woodlands are more painted treasures: lady slippers; trilliums; lily of the valley; blue flags purple violets. And if you can find them, hidden in the cool, damp shadows are delicate blooms of sweetly fragrant mayflowers.

Never far from the woodlands are the beaches, and it’s here that time is forgotten. Bask in the sound of ocean waves, breaking on the shores. Hear the squawk of gulls overhead and the flap of a sail in the breeze. Breathe it in: the smell of salt air. Feel the grit between the toes and the warm sun that kisses the face.

Unheedingly, time advances. Too soon, the bright, yellow ball sinks, shimmering, into the horizon, the edge of the earth. Its rays sparkle like diamonds on the dancing ripples; they reach across the water, beckoning.

And there wells up within a longing to stay — to see and hear and feel and dream a little more — on the beaches … in the woodlands … in the fields and on the hills … just a little longer in the Maritimes.

From Blossoms
Copyright © 2023 by Sandra Grace