While Spring officially started at the beginning of the month back home in Ireland, in Spain we are still in the middle of winter, with the next season only set to start in another month on the 21st of March.
It is, I admit, the height of skiing season, but even here, the daffodils are shooting up and will soon burst buds, the crocuses in the parks are spotting the grass, and I even saw a few daisy and dandelions the other day. The trees are mostly still bare, but showers of catkins have popped out on a few.
Mostly, though, you can just smell it. The air is different. Despite the snow that we had last week, there’s a feeling of spring that even humans living in a city still experience.
Spring is here, as far as I am concerned.
And summer isn’t far behind. For I saw the bats take their first flight of the year and it reminded me of a poem I wrote last year on the subject of signs of summer, more than spring. It’s perhaps a little premature to be thinking about butterflies and bees, but since I haven’t posted a poem in a while, here it is.
Signs of Summer
There are many signs of summer coming, here,
Starting perhaps with cuckoo calls and swallow sighting
And the return of the swifts, or
The first flight of the bats at twilight,
The scent of honeysuckle through open balconies and
The abundance of butterflies on the garden lavender,
Some are specific to Spain, like closing the blinds
Against sunlight to keep the house cool, and
Sleeping with the windows open all night
Pouring water to fill the swimming pool and others
Seen only in this city: setting up the tombola,
Putting the fences around the flowers in the park
In preparation for the festivals and digging up
The road to get it ready for the running of the bulls,
And lastly, putting up with the stench of piss
Upon opening up the street door every morning.
Waiting For Spring
Was a time when I would look for each tiny bloom
Of daisy, dog violet, Veronica and the like along paths
As if searching a stream for gold; each gleam a godsend
Lighting up my life as winter slowly died
After an icy age of snow and bare soil,C and spring sped well,
Bringing joy in the profusion of snow drops and crocuses,
Readying myself for daffodils and primroses.
However, as February begins, this year,
I think I haven’t waited quite enough;
Like a child looking forward to Easter
After only just emptying selection boxes,
It lacks lustre, seems not so sweet, even
Unto wincing when I spy a shoot protrude
Too soon, these should be delightful but
They descry the coming sickness
Like the shepherds said of red skies.
The sky outside my window…. A delight? or a warning?
Sometimes it’s hard to know.
We are having a wonderfully mild winter, when we are happy not to have to wear our woollies and have the heating on full blast… but we know spring is coming too soon to be good, and is more indicative of sickness in our midst…