Oh Green World

I’ll take this tenuous peace while I can. For the moment, the birds sing the sun awake and the spring peepers the moon to rise, each in their turn. During the day, the green world unfurls ferns in the form of yawning arms, ready to spread fingers, ready to catch sun, ready for summer. Being a little north of the Twin Cities, we get spring just a little bit later than there. I’ve seen the trees blooming in Minneapolis. We are still a few steps behind that with the apple trees just starting to make buds. 

 For the moment, my interests and the interests of Momma Nature are not in conflict. She’s bringing songs and poems and fair weather. I’m doing my best to keep a steady pace, not demanding too much of the land, not yet, but trying to prune back her pawns a little in advance of the war. And it will be that. It always is. For the moment I don’t press my luck, but I plot. And Momma Nature lets things wake up at their pace. And they do. And they bide their time. 

 There is this funny illusion that happens on a farm, and it lasts until about the end of June. This illusion that you are on top of things, and you might just stay on top of things all the way through until the frosts come and the crops stop growing. It’s a chronic hope that somehow turns into some unearned confidence that quickly gets usurped when Momma Nature castles and brings out her queen. 

 “Why does it always have to be this way?” I ask, both of us knowing it’ll go down sooner or later.

 “I didn’t start it.”

 “But you will.”

 “No…you will. You already have.”

 It’s so true. I feel foolish. A fool among fools. 

 “I guess I’m going to have to just soak up this peace while I can, then.”

 “You could soak it up all summer long if you wanted.”

 “No…I can’t.”

 “Alright then.”

 With that, I open my ears a little more, the better to hear the birds. And I try to see what the ferns might have to say about waking up to the world. I need to soak it up while I’m able. But I also quicken my pace, a little more. We’re gonna need all the head start we can get. “No false confidence,” I tell myself. But I know. I always fall for the trap.