Spring has well and truly sprung where I live. The sun beams beatifically while a bellicose wind is determined to huff and puff the few remaining days of March. In the background, my husband’s chainsaw gnaws through a pile of downed tree limbs — winter’s detritus.
Today is my husband’s birthday. (Happy birthday, Bob.)
In a couple of days it will be April, which is National Poetry Month. I love poetry as much as I love spring. On spring mornings rife with sun, I often think of Wordsworth. Specifically the following:
My Heart Leaps Up
My heart leaps up when I behold
A rainbow in the sky:
So was it when my life began;
So is it now I am a man;
So be it when I shall grow old,
Or let me die!
The Child is father of the Man;
And I could wish my days to be
Bound each to each by natural piety.
I learned this poem many years ago when I was still the Child. A few years ago, while thinking on Wordsworth, I jotted down a response to My Heart Leaps Up.
My heart despaired when I beheld
A codger in the dell:
So was it that my life began;
Yet here I am without a plan,
Fast closing in on next-to-dead.
Oh, bugger hell!
And I could wish my days to crawl
Before I have to chuck it all.
I must have been in a funky mood when I wrote that ditty. In my defense, the too swift passing of time has been an obsession with me since I was about eight, and the only way around it is to poke fun of myself, which is what I am doing here. (Plus, I do love the word codger.)
So, welcome to another spring; to young men’s (and women’s) fancy; to love and poetry. Welcome, welcome, welcome all!