I will still be dreaming
I do not count the time
For who knows where the time goes?
Who knows where the time goes?
Song written by Sandy Denny and performed by Eva Cassidy
This Tuesday, neither the North or South pole lean closer to the sun. It is the Spring Equinox and the sun will lie directly above the equator. We will enjoy an equal night and day for this rotation of the Earth. Then the sun will continue its slow glide across the Northern Hemisphere.
These are the days to take the long way, the winding roads. These are the days to listen to the soundtrack of a lifetime of road trips. “Running On Empty” crossing the border into Southern Wyoming. “Take It Easy” cruising into Winslow, Arizona to stand on a corner, take a photo with a statue, buy a t-shirt. “It Doesn’t Matter Anymore” by Eva Cassidy driving a continuous letter “S” down California’s Highway 1 north of San Francisco…cold Pacific ocean wind, convertible PT Cruiser with the top down and the heat on, waves crashing, endless shades of blue.
A recent backroads meander to the croons of Johnny Hartman led me to Harpeth River State Park in pursuit of shooting stars. Not the nighttime sky-show. Rather, the hillside ephemerals that I learned were already in bloom. (If you enjoy jazz, check out the recording Johnny Hartman and John Coltrane released in 1963.)
I crave every Tennessee spring arrival. Not the date on the calendar or even time jumping forward. But the reliable, magical ephemeral procession through the hollows and along streams and rivers. The last few years, a wondering has drifted through my mind…how many more Springtimes may I get to enjoy?
Time with the seasons, with everything, is finite.
Don’t mind this spring breeze blowing through to remind you to subscribe if you enjoy my work. Back to the blooms…
The shooting stars…they are always further down the park trail than I remember. Until I come upon them, tucked on the north side of a large boulder overlooking the Harpeth River. They catch wind-free rays of sun. Their tall stems leaning into the light. They are like long-lost friends waiting for me to come along.
Every day brings a return…
The first spring beauty, Dutchman’s breeches, fiddlehead ferns, fire pink, trillium, and the simplicity of one of my most favorites – white-like-snow, the rue anemone. I step slowly, searching the ground for any I have missed. On the other side of the bridge I find a picnic table near the water and pull out my journal.
The sun and the temperature are dropping so I return home, the long winding way, listening to “Beyond the Blue” by Beth Nielsen Chapman.
“Away beyond the blue
One star belongs to you
This life is but a dream
Go gently down the stream…”
There, periwinkles create a lavender blanket outside my office window. The chipmunk runs and jumps among the flowers, stealing seed, hiding from the red-shouldered hawk.
What should come of the sweet betsy trillium near my creek, just feet from the ripple-falls? It has arisen in that exact spot the nine years I’ve been watching. Was it there 20, 40, 60 years ago? Will it continue?
Two Carolina wrens shuffle in the leaf litter, gathering tiny sticks and mouthfuls of moss – essential work to prepare for their first brood and possibly a second.
Late-afternoon birdsong begins to calm. The cardinal calls to his mate; his chirp more insistent than hers. I haven’t spotted their nest yet. Bluebirds are worbling (my word for their sound) in quiet tones up in the white oak trees. The black vulture guards its eggs in the barn.
The setting sun spotlights the treetops. The burst is coming! If you’re near or south of Tennessee, look up this week…as often as possible. I’m tempted to lay a fresh branch of buds against paint color swatches to find the perfect words to describe that nearly-fluorescent, lime-green, fresh, bright green that is spring green. To simply say ‘spring green’ is insufficient.
Sleep brings the anticipation of my most eagerly-awaited return…the wood thrush.
It’s still too early. Yet I can’t wait to hear their eee-oh-lay calls deep within my forest. Soon, they’ll make their way across the Gulf of Mexico. They’ll arrive in Tennessee early to mid-April and sing the beginning of this year’s soundtrack.
Currently Reading
Edwin Way Teale’s North with the Spring is my next read in his seasons series retracing the travels he and his wife made in the late 1940s through 1960s.
I’ll confess, I jumped in on page 169, chapter 18 “Trillium Glen” documenting their observations near Tryon, North Carolina at the southern end of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I read this excerpt after writing my observations above. What a joy to know they observed a spring show so stunningly similar to what I have experienced, in recent days and years.
“Our first and most lasting impression of the ravine was this trillium tapestry that ascended on either hand.
But there were other flowers too: hepatica, columbine, Dutchman’s breeches, bloodroot, lady-slipper, spring beauty, wood anemone — just to name them over is to bring to mind the sight and smell and feel of woodland loam. Nowhere else along the way did we find so glorious a wild flower garden as in this hidden nook among the North Carolina mountains.”
Just four minutes…
This week’s blend of music, memories, and nature has been just what I needed after a few tiring weeks. For just four minutes, listen to a song, or two, from a long-ago time in your life. I hope you enjoy the experience as much as I have.
Journaling prompt…
Write a letter to Spring, welcoming the season home.
See where it leads…
P.S. This week’s music bonus…Eva Cassidy
A friend introduced me to Eva Cassidy a bunch of years ago. When I first heard her voice, it was more than 10 years after her death. Described in this feature by The Guardian, she went on to “achieve rapturous posthumous acclaim.”
I recommend starting with Acoustic, a compilation of 20 of her best-loved tracks.
If you enjoyed this week’s edition of “A Curious Nature”, I hope you may choose to subscribe, drop your thoughts below, click the heart, or share with a friend.
I was in the Smokies last week where spring was slowly arriving. A few early ephemerals but we were too soon for the best. It was delightful though and I wish I'd had more time to spend in the state.
I was in the Smokies last week where spring was slowly arriving. A few early ephemerals but we were too soon for the best. It was delightful though and I wish I'd had more time to spend in the state.