It’s not my favorite chore. But then, none of them is. I’d just as soon take a long walk with the Lovely Lady, or sit and nap in my easy chair. Still, time spent outside with the two black labs is never dull.

One friend reminds me that this is hero’s work, cleaning up after the family pets. His little girl says it is, so it must be true.

Hero’s work. Yeah, right.

Well, someone’s got to do it. I had made my rounds and was just finishing up on this beautiful early March afternoon when I heard it. The traffic noises had dwindled down to nothing and the dogs were off dozing in the sun, so there were no other distractions besides the cardinals and the finches.

I stood for a moment and listened. The tall pear tree above my head was buzzing. It’s not normal for trees to buzz, I know. Trees creak. They howl as the wind blows past their branches. Once in a while, they crash down as the storms toss and tear at them.

Trees don’t buzz.

But this one was. The ancient tree, most of it past the age when it will ever bear any edible fruit, already is covered — absolutely covered — with beautiful white blossoms. Even though the subfreezing nights will return again before the calendar says spring is really here, today there are buds everywhere.

The bees don’t know any better. They are swarming the blossoms, virtually swimming in pollen, some of which they will share with other trees, and some of which they will selfishly keep for their own purposes.

It’s a fair trade.

Can I tell you something? I just stood and listened to the bees today with joy in my soul.

Why joy, you wonder? Well yes. It could be that I love spring, while I do not love the season which precedes it. That could have something to do with it. But the real reason, at the heart of things, is Winnie.

You know. Pooh.

Winnie-the-Pooh.

That buzzing-noise means something. You don’t get a buzzing-noise like that, just buzzing and buzzing, without its meaning something. If there’s a buzzing-noise, somebody’s making a buzzing-noise, and the only reason for making a buzzing-noise that I know of is because you’re a bee.
(from Winnie the Pooh, by A. A. Milne)

Child-like joy.

The reminder of kinder, quieter days — when one stood under trees to listen to bees, or gazed over fences at the cattle on the other side, or skipped rocks across ponds just for the pure delight of it.

It has been a hard winter. Oh, I’m not talking about the weather. By that standard, the winter has been mild.

But, I will attest that winter has gripped my heart in its cold, gray grasp for too many months. The deaths of family members and illnesses that wouldn’t relent for anything have frozen me in place for much too long.

The bees tell me the world is turning to a new spring. My walk this afternoon did too, in a different sense.

I happened past the school nearby as the students were released for the day. Striding along the sidewalks, I was soon shoulder-to-shoulder with several of the rowdy eleven and twelve-year-olds. Talking with and shoving each other as they headed home, they moved a bit slower than this sixty-something-year-old man.

Until I tried to pass them.

One boy had squeezed through a gap between two others as he tried to catch up with his friends, so I attempted to do the same, saying, “I’ll just slide between you, too.”

“Oh, no you won’t!” one of them retorted.

The boys didn’t really even look at me as I moved between them, but they both sped up immediately, matching my pace. Side-by-side for the rest of the way through the housing complex and past the Boys and Girls Club, we walk-raced.

I was ahead for a second or two, and then one or both of them would push past me, laughing and talking smack all the while. We reached the point at which we would part company at about the same time, but I conceded the race to them.

The smaller boy left me with these words of wisdom:

“Yeah. I think we really blew you away.”

Joy. Spring is coming. It is.

Old men get older. Young folks blow them away, in so many ways. And that’s as it should be.

Returning home a little later, I invited the Lovely Lady to come stand under the pear tree with me. I wonder if the neighbors were laughing at us. It doesn’t matter. We stood there with smiles on our faces as we listened to the sound of spring approaching.

After supper, I was sitting wrapped in thought when I heard a message come in on my phone. A young man I’ve known since he was three or four had sent a note to thank me for things I don’t remember doing. He talked of example and friendship and teaching, mentioning attributes I wouldn’t have assigned to myself. As I read, I again felt new life being breathed into my spirit.

Some days, when we least expect it, joy explodes again and again, painting the backdrops in greens, yellows, and bright blues.

For a moment, I thought I heard buzzing again. Spring is about new life, blossoming fresh and clean.

It seems I always feel the need to find a spiritual application to these little experiences I write about. There is always something to learn.

God is faithful to keep His promises. Spring will always come.

But, you already know that.

The joy of His extras, though — That’s just fuel enough to get us through the cold, gray days still to come.

Time to store up some honey.

Or, something even sweeter.

Pleasant words are like a honeycomb,
sweet to the soul and healing to the bones.
(Proverbs 16:24, NET Bible)

The year‘s at the spring, 
And day‘s at the morn; 
Morning‘s at seven; 
The hill-side‘s dew-pearl’d; 
The lark‘s on the wing;
The snail‘s on the thorn; 
God‘s in His heaven —
All‘s right with the world!
(from Pippa’s Song, by Robert Browning)

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2020. All Rights Reserved.