The other day the phone rang, I picked it up.
Click!
Hello, pause, hello?
Buzzzzzz… click, Hello?
A snarky, nasal sounding voice intoned “hello, please hold for SPRING!”
Okay… I’m holding.
And holding.
Waiting…
There is no sign of spring here, in fact it’s colder now, than in January.
I think it was a prank call.
Spring is probably sitting down on a cushion of verdant grass, under a canopy of sweetly falling cherry blossoms that sparkle with dew, surrounded by nodding snow drops. Laughing at us, she prank calls unsuspecting gardeners on her diamond encrusted cell phone. Spring is always up to date on technology, she just doesn’t seem to follow a calendar.
Spring will be sitting there giggling as one by one the lines are lit up, each one a gardener on hold, never daring to let go of the phone, after all, it’s SPRING, and she doesn’t call more then once a year.
She takes her time planning her moves, using a giant chessboard made of fresh leaves, and pastel colored petals… a touch of whimsy here, yes a soft breeze will blow there and they will think it’s me, Spring. Here I will allow the bulbs to show a bit of green, and then it will snow for weeks… this place will have frost hit the new seedlings, and this one will flood.
And this place, ah ha… this is a good one, snow, and more snow, cold temperatures, and then, just when they give up hope, I will show up. Her giggles, and laughter are like soft iridescent bubbles that float in the warm sun sparkled air.
For she has a wicked, teasing side to her, planning hail storms, and snow falling out of season… she’s bored, a young season, never to grow old, and it’s gone to her head. Like the young, she thinks she has all the time in the world, and she does, I suppose… it’s up to us to wait her out.
So I hold on the line, while a tinny, musak rendition plays in the background… Vivaldi's four seasons, it’s winter deep tones coming through my phone speakers right now. Will it ever end?
Hello? Spring?
Hello.