Enough of snow and ice, grey skies and money problems adding to the gloom. Hello March, with overtones of leaping hares, blustery winds and birthdays. Last time I counted, the dates of these birthdays went something like this:- 1st, 3rd, 4th, 6th, 10th, 12th, 15th,16th, 17th, 18th, 21st, 22nd and 28TH. A card maker's paradise, or nightmare?
Back in the days when I belonged to a small Barbershop Chorus of about twenty five or so members, fifteen of us had March birthdays. Any explanations for this preponderance of birthdays in a single month, I should like to hear. Do we March types have clannish DNA cells that like to stick together? But enough. One thing for sure, in a month's time we'll all be a year older and that seems an excellent time to change the subject.
With many in Blogland still talking of snow, as opposed to spring flowers, it makes me ponder once again on the marvel of all green and growing things. They grow in such diverse habitats and often against great odds, adapting to conditions around them in order to survive as a species. Dr John, commenting yesterday, said he thought there were no such green and growing things under the snow where he lives, but I tend to dispute that. Even if he lived on a rocky eyrie, ten to one there would be, at the very least, tiny lichens growing in the nooks and crannies beneath the surface snow. It was thoughts like this that produced today's short poem.
Flowers have no choice of when to bloom.
Universal force dictates to them
how soon and at what rate
their glowing colours may dispel
the gloom of sombre Winter.
People have no choice of when to love.
Unbidden, soft, love wraps its mantle round
like swirling mists from regions high above
that clothe the world with pale ethereal gown
in proper season.