A Backward Spring

The trees are afraid to put forth buds,
And there is timidity in the grass;
The plots lie gray where gouged by spuds,
And whether next week will pass
Free of sly sour winds is the fret of each bush
Of barberry waiting to bloom.

Yet the snowdrop's face betrays no gloom,
And the primrose pants in its heedless push,
Though the myrtle asks if it's worth the fight
This year with frost and rime
To venture one more time
On delicate leaves and buttons of white
From the selfsame bough as at last year's prime,
And never to ruminate on or remember
What happened to it in mid-December.

- Thomas Hardy, April 1917

So, I really intend for my blog to be mostly photo driven. But as I was browsing a favorite book I stumbled on this poem. It resonates deeply, as I’ve thought a lot these recent weeks not only about how strange this Spring has been, but also about how we move forward in our lives, as some are seemingly ready to transition back to “normal,” and others question if there is such a thing and if so what it looks like. It’s hard not to think like the myrtle, and wonder “if it’s worth the fight… to venture one more time.” And yet, deep within us we all have the same knowledge as the flowers about us; that regardless of our thoughts time marches on, and every season passes.