Spring Fever

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Ah, spring fever. Time to fall in love, and walk hand in hand in the sunshine singing sweet songs. At least, that's how it should be in my mind.

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Unfortunately, my spring fever has looked more like hay fever this year. Tree pollen is high in North Carolina, so this girl was low. I spent all of last week wheezing and coughing, exhausted by little things like climbing the stairs of my own home.

But, yesterday, I finally started to feel better. I guess my Claritin ramped up enough, or my body just started to deal with it.

Even through the haze of cold medicine and kleenex, I can't help but feel the poetry inherent in the season, though. Spring is undeniably a time of rebirth and growth, of beauty and wonder. It's something about the light returning and the excitement that elicits in the soul, something that whispers, "Almost."

Here, Emily Dickinson said it better:

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —

A quality of loss
Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.