Suddenly, Spring (Again)

It's not Sunday, but this is a reset poem. 🌸

(it’s forsythia, by the way) // Photo by Aubrey Odom on Unsplash

Hello hello and happiest springtime! Mildly amused that the last time I wrote here it was at least partially the product of a pre-work morning dog walk. Because on yesterday’s pre-work morning dog walk (probably at the same park) I remembered this poem.¹

And wouldn’t you know, the trees really are blossoming, and the lilacs really are budding, and I saw my first dandelions of the season and everything² smells like fresh cut grass. Also, the pickleball players were back.

So let’s just say in 2024, my suddenly spring moment was April 16th. Let’s revisit this little poem from Beneath the Flood, shall we?³

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Suddenly, Spring

Every spring, there is the one day 
(this year, April 6)
when I spy the dramatic change 
in pink-petaled trees
on Thayer Street
and I struggle to remember
the names of the raucous yellow 
blossoms on shrubs,
so I google “Yellow blossoms
New England,”
(it’s forsythia, by the way
)and then I see daffodils everywhere 
and red buds on my neighbor’s tree 
and the lilac limbs growing heavy 
for the next round of blooming.

This is the day I remember 
how much I forget
year after year,
and I write a little poem 
so I won’t forget again, 
even though I know I will,
even though the surprise 
is part of the joy.

1. Astute readers who want to check the archives will find that I already posted this poem… exactly a year ago? Ah well. I guess April 16th is the day I remember how much I forget. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

2. Everything, including my dog.

3. Beneath the Flood’s first book birthday is coming up next month, btw. What does one even do to celebrate a book birthday? If I think of something, I will let you know.