The last of the ice will be exiting the deck today. A combination of steady sun and the determined gleam in Frank’s eye as he surveyed the deck and declared that today was the day for the start of Spring cleanup means that Winter is officially over.

It’s the first of April. T.S. Eliot famously penned “April is the cruelest month. . .” Just had a flashback to long ago analysis of The Waste Land with its exhaustive delving into the meaning behind those oft quoted words. I was then, and remain now, more of an e.e.cummings kind of person, who delights in Spring as “mud-lucious and puddle-wonderful.”

Bobbie Katz’s Spring Is needs to be shared. I remember the delight of kids in elementary classrooms as they recognized that poetry was something they could understand and be excited about. As an adult, this poem speaks to me as well and always evokes a smile.

Spring Is

Spring is when
the morning sputters like
bacon
and
your
sneakers
run
down
the
stairs
so fast you can hardly keep up with them
and
spring is when
your scrambled eggs
jump
off
the
plate
and turn into a million daffodils
trembling in the sunshine.

Bobbie Katz