Spring has truly sprung in these islands. Remembering my past spring times in the UK I can’t recollect bird song being so vibrantly vociferous, skies so blue, air so refreshingly clear, heavens so clear of aircraft noise and flowers so profusely blossoming.

(The current blooms in our garden)

It’s clearly a lot to do with the lockdown imposed by the current health crisis but the weather has also much to do with it: we’ve had hardly any rain in this month. Perhaps a drop now would be more than welcome; today looks greyer anyway.

Maybe, it’s also a time to celebrate with a poem. So here goes with something I wrote for last month:

SUBURBAN GARDEN

Camellia petal’s on the lawn in March

while daffodils sway with a clear blue wind

and buds burst forth from lime and oak and larch

as sleeping generations wake and find.

Spring’ s ritual begins a thousand fold

anew, and earth anoints the rising seeds:

they part the soil and disregard the old

in lively flurry of galactic breeds.

Upon my neck the rays caress, so warm

they’re lovers’ hands that rise beyond this sphere;

once more I am reborn before a dawn

dispelling all the darkness and the fear.

Can spring be really now and here and bright;

My body’s filled with this transcendent light.