As a child, it never occurred to Spring to ask why she was named after a yearly season. By the time she grew old enough to realize the significance of her name, she no longer cared. It reflected her favorite time of the year and pleased her immensely.
Even though she delighted in the many changes that happened at this time of year, she received the most pleasure from the rebirth of abundant and diverse plant life. Each green blade which sliced it’s way quietly through the chill soil promised delight at the time of it’s blooming. Many of the emerging plants looked similar; since she never chose to remember the location of specific plants she was always anxious for the show to play.
It seemed somewhat ironic that the first plants crowding toward the sunlight were the day lilies, even though they bloomed much later. They had obviously used winter to spread and increase in number, perhaps to ensure that although their blooms only lasted for a day they would be admired abundantly.
Among the first to flower were crowds of stocky narcissus, massing together in clusters of yellow. Sometimes a late snow would blanket them and Spring would be concerned about their survival, but when the snow melted, they stood strong and proud, undaunted by the capricious storm.
Spring reveled in wandering the garden each day, searching for stems beginning to swell with buds. Different varieties of jonquils bloomed successively, each trying to prove themselves more hardy and colorful than the previous. The garden was carpeted with short stalks of jaunty grape hyacinth. Their big brothers were fewer but larger, more majestic and boldly fragrant.
She delighted in delicate bluebells, blazing stars, spicy scented iris, delicately fragrant lily of the valley, miniature iris, and so much more. She could easily lose track of time while being enthralled by the profusion of scent and beauty.
The forsythia always amused her by the way it bloomed unexpectedly, the yellow flowers suddenly massed on the bare branches of the bush, anxious to be admired before leaves grew out. In contrast the lilac would be full of foliage before presenting masses of heady scented blooms. Spring would bury her face in the bush, thus enrapturing all of her senses.
It seemed as if spring passed too quickly into summer. Yes, that season had flowers and beauty of it’s own, but to her it never compared to the surprise of spring. And this year it seemed to be happening too quickly, everything seeming to be over in just a day’s time.
Matthew slowly walked from his car to the house. After the funeral followed by the inevitable gathering of family and friends, he knew it was time for the agony of being alone for the first time since the death of his wife. In a way he coveted the solitude after months of watching cancer ravage and then steal life from the body of his beloved. During the time of having many friends and family around to help with her care, and to willingly give emotional support to both of them, he had remained strong, almost stoic in public suppression of his grief.
Although Matthew had never understood Spring’s passion for the season, he had eagerly brought her bulbs and plants, knowing that her rapture would become his delight. In the final days of her illness she had requested her bed be placed by a window where she would anxiously scour the world outside for any trace of her final spring. Matthew had even, at her request, carried her outside to search for any sign of life arriving there even as life was leaving her. Oh how she longed to live long enough to experience this last spring. How cruel it was that cancer had stolen even that from her.
As he neared their porch, against his will he glanced to the garden. What he saw brought a sudden rush of tears and stab of grief to his very soul. He fell to his knees in the muddy earth and watered with tears of pain and agony the first spears of green bravely breaking free of the cold winter earth. It wasn’t fair. He felt an urge to rip the growth from the ground to punish it for appearing too late for Spring to see and delight in it.
Something held him back. The tears dried up as he felt his wife’s presence calming him. He could feel her pleasure as if she were using his senses to absorb the delight of the birth of the season. He knew then that as long as the flowers bloomed in spring, that Spring would bloom in him.