My old friend Spring is in the air
carried on the woodland breeze
with the scent of flowers fair
greening buds on all the trees.
He's a friend who's never strayed,
no other breeze could feel the same.
He's a friend who's not afraid
to touch my face and speak my name.
He shares his secrets in a song
as he whispers through the leaves.
He says I'm here where I belong
where river through green forest weaves.
"Forsake the ways of strife and throng,
stay here with me by my blue stream."
His spell is sweet, his magic strong;
my other life is but a dream.
I know his song is just a gust,
it blows this way and then the next.
Yet still I crave the wanderlust
with which it fills my yearning breast.
Nanook of the Nashwaak
Reach out and touch a rock
Click here to hear Nanook recite this poem.
In the brief interlude between the last deep frost and the first leafing out of the trees, the gentle breeze is laden with the heady perfume of spring. It banishes all memories of the cold, dark winter that seemed so endless not so long ago. Each tiny zephyr carries hope, trust, and anticipation of more warm and sunny days to come.
The spring breeze evokes a unique sentiment, a primeval stirring, a sweet reawakening that reconfirms our belief that the world is a kind and gentle place. Every brightly colored bird and every tiny, bold flower it touches rekindles the childlike joy that spring brings to our lives.
The spring breeze sparks an emotion that has no name. By the time we begin to recognize this mysterious feeling and try to label it, as we so dearly want to do, the marvelous perfume is spent, and will not return until next year. Letís hope the mystery is never solved. Enjoy it now, while we can.
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