Today at Iten's Acres: Minutia February 16, 2014

I have been reflecting lately on the minutia of spring. Irrational, I know. There is no sign of spring at the Acres. The place is deep in snow, frozen, new flakes every day. The trees are bare and stark. The wild area is compacted by the snow. Even the Lenten roses are buried under the snow cover. It has been a winter--frigid and snowy. And despite the fact that we may get a day or two this week in the forties--winter, I'm sure, is far from over. They say--and whom am I to doubt those illimitable authorities "they," that if you didn't mind freezing to death, you could walk across the Great Lakes. Yes, it has been a winter.
Yet, the minutia of spring are dominating my thoughts. Hope, I guess, is what they (a different they perhaps) call it. It is those small beginnings that bring me the greatest joys of spring's beginning. It begins with that first cold day in March when there is an almost imperceptible warm breeze in the air. It is accentuated by a lonely robin's song as he searches the crab apples for a last morsel that has escaped the foraging cedar waxwings. A soft, almost imperceptible, serenaded, warm breeze.
And soon, life resurrects. Small buds on the trees, buds on the Lenten roses, open pools on the frozen pond. Spring is coming. Slowly, insignificantly, invincibly. And ahhhh, suddenly the Acres are awash in spring beauties. First day, a few pink and white lovelies. Next day, hundreds. So tiny, so gorgeous, so ubiquitous. Nothing could have been better named. Spring beauties indeed! And then the violets! Purples, almost blues, whites, lilac with purple spots, even a few yellows. They become a carpet all over the Acres. So many of the delicate beauties that you are in danger of taking them for granted instead of reveling in the wonder. Miraculous minutia of springtime. And then? Laughing at any snow that may be trying to resist the coming warmth--the crocus. I love to "stumble" onto a new crocus on a morning walk. Deep yellow, dark purples, subtle lilacs, ornamental oranges--the crocus, mightiest of the minutia of spring. I especially love to find them in the wild area. Surrounded by the towering stubble of last year's wildness, the still leafless thorny wild roses, they reveal their brilliance unintimidated by the last vestiges of winter's temporary death. "We are alive!" They seem to boast. "Have been alive all winter, just waiting for a zephyr of warm winds to calls us forth to colorize the earth, to bring to your steps a pause--a silent pause of awe and wonder at the minutia of God's gift of springtime." There is always a resurrection of hope after the winter's ice and cold. Keep your eyes open. The minutia of spring are coming. Get your dancing shoes and hats and tambourines out of storage. It will be celebration time soon--joy in the mornings.