Spring

By TAD BARTIMUS

It's spring. We still go to school, and to work, and increasingly we play again. Our churches, synagogues, mosques and temples still stand. So do our shopping centers, movie theaters, libraries and museums. After Sept. 11, we were sure we'd never have another frivolous thought, nor want one; last week, we ogled Academy Awards dresses and held office pools on the Final Four.

It's spring. We've survived a sad, hard winter. The ides of March and the vernal equinox have passed. Our "war against terror" in Afghanistan is winding down; New York is recovering; the Nasdaq is up. Like daffodils, we lift up our heads in gratitude toward the sun's bright reward. 

It's spring. In greening fields, new calves run for no reason, kick up their heels, get spooked by their own stubby tails. Their first rain is a wonder -- "What is this stuff, mom?" The fresh grass is soft, mother's milk warm and plentiful, the other calves curious. Snow is melting; creeks are running; trout rising. There's a softness in the air that caresses our wind-burned cheeks and smoothes our chapped hands. On my neighbors' farms, mewling kittens somersault off the porch; fluffy ducks splash in a plastic wading pool; yellow chicks skitter like wind-up toys as the fussy hen clucks her brood from one safe haven to another.

It's spring. Elderly friends who worried that they wouldn't make it through flu and pneumonia season are planning their gardens. High school seniors who thought graduation was a long way off now wish they had more time before they're thrust into the world. Friends' babies are learning to roll over, crawl and take their first tottering steps while holding tight to their parent's index fingers. E-mail arrives, requesting that we "save" dates for christenings, bar mitzvahs, birthdays, weddings, anniversaries. 

As our country moves forward, we are mindful of the immediate past. We know lots of terrorists believe the only good American is a dead American. We know we must stay alert, no longer be oblivious to the realities of a hazardous world. If some of us were blithely -- blissfully -- unaware of religious, ethnic hatred until Sept. 11, we aren't now.

Our national paralysis is over. We plan vacations, buy airline tickets, reserve hotel rooms, make deposits on summer camps. We know that soon there will be circuses, and picnics, and county fairs, that we will eat tender sweet corn, and peaches and cream, and watch fireflies again. We will let our children out of our sight as long as we know where they're going -- and that their cell phone batteries are fully charged. 

We still follow the news closely, but we're no longer glued to the television. We watch "Judge Judy" and "Everybody Loves Raymond" as well as CNN and "The News Hour with Jim Lehrer." We don't hang breathless on every word uttered by the Secretary of Defense. We don't keep track of President Bush's daily schedule. We don't cringe every time we hear a siren.

It's spring. A fine time to remember that the most powerful force in the universe may well be a single crocus pushing its way through the earth's crust.

© 2002 The Women Syndicate

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