To Every Thing There Is a Season

March kind of got away on me. It's a really busy season; my head is full of thoughts and my soul and body too tired to process them all. But then the other day I heard this poem read at a gathering, and I was reminded of how much I love it. It brings up the image of a pendulum, swinging slowly back and forth, ticking away the times.
There is a time to every purpose under heaven.

SEASONS

To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die;
A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
A time to break down, and a time to build up;
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to get, and a time to lose;
A time to keep, and a time to cast away;
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and a time to speak;
A time to love, and a time to hate;
A time of war,
And a time of peace.

Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Rain-drenched crocus buds. Spring is here.

Human Barometer

I don't even know how this works. See, this morning I woke up (too early, but at least it wasn't 3:00AM) to find it had snowed again in the night. Snow. With just a week to go to Equinox. Hello?!? So, I wasn't happy. Dragged my butt for most of the morning, in fact. Bleah, blah, blrgh. Life's too much; can't handle the work I have to do; so tired. Around noon, I had me a sandwich, dragged myself off to bed, and had a nap.

And woke after twenty minutes or so to literally bounce up, cheerful and optimistic. Why? Because the sun had come out. Bright blue sky, most of the snow melted off, and glorious light pouring in the window. Well, the kitchen window, anyway - my bedroom faces West into the mountain, it doesn't often get direct sunlight. And that's my point: I didn't even see that sunshine until I had got out of bed. I felt better just because the sun came out, even though I hadn't seen it yet.

Now, I'm sure there's something highly metaphorical in that, but that's not what I'm after. What I'm wondering is how it works. This is by no means the first time that's happened to me, that I felt gloomy to match the weather, and as soon as the sun comes out, the gloom dissipates right along with the clouds. Oh yes, I'm fully aware of the benefits of sunlight on moods - I've even got one of those bright-light lamps that help you survive the dark months here on the 50th Parallel. But with those lamps, the light has to shine on your eyes - in other words, you have to see it for it to help. To treat SAD, they recommend going for a walk outside every day, and don't you dare wear sunglasses. So how can the sun coming out during my nap, when I've got my eyes closed in a room facing away from direct sunlight, have that same effect?

I figure I must be some sort of human barometer. Don't you think that's feasible? I mean, if those air pressure systems have the power to move around massive quantities of water in the sky (incognito under the name of "clouds"), they probably have some sort of influence on all that water that's sloshing around in my veins. Even my brain, I hear, is made up of about 75% H2O. Maybe with low air pressure, it's all pushed to the sides of the skull, and those little critters that live inside my head and are supposed to make me feel happy get really thirsty. Or something. Oh, fine, call them neurotransmitters if you wish- but I think there's probably a whole lot more about the human body that we don't know than that we know, so who knows, there could be some happy-brain-critters that we just haven't found out about yet.

Oh, and I did go for a walk, outside, without sunglasses, after that nap. I couldn't resist. And you know what? The crocuses are blooming.

Life, the Universe, and Human Barometers. May your happy-brain-critters stay well hydrated.

Snowdrops

This one is for Bonnie Heather, who was asking today if it's springtime yet. Look what's blooming beside my front door! Aren't they lovely? Yes, spring is on its way, even though just a few feet over from the snowdrops there's still a dirty patch of the white stuff that gives them their name.

I planted the bulbs for these little beauties last fall; I finally remembered to get some and actually put them in the ground. In the last few years, every spring I'd go "Gee whiz, I forgot to plant spring bulbs again!" but this year, I remembered. And then had to replant the poor things once or twice, because the cats figured that handy spot beside the front door, right against the wall of the house where it's protected from the snow, must be meant for a litter box for them. Grrrr.

I'm not a good gardener; really, I've always had a bit of a brown thumb. When it comes to remembering to actually look after the plants, it's usually something along the lines of "Oh dang, you're dead! I suppose I should have watered you before now..." (What does that say about me that I don't talk to my plants when they're alive, but only when they've gone to their lack-of-watery grave? Hmm...) But there are some things that I've managed to grow over the years, and, if I may say so, the fact that they're surviving against the odds (meaning "me", who is, admittedly, quite odd at times) makes them all the more special.

I'm especially fond of spring flowers; there is something so hopeful about them. So far, I've had crocuses, which are very lovely, but as I said, the snowdrops were a long-time wish. The crocuses are only just starting to poke up out of the ground (you can see their little shoots beside the snowdrops in the picture), so it'll be a good month before we see blossoms on them. They'll be the colourful harbingers of real spring, but the snowdrops are like a promise that winter is winding down, and spring won't be far behind.

Life, the Universe, and Snowdrops. Yes, Bonnie, it's springtime, or at least it soon will be.