Trees and Tulips

At long last I've found my way back to  blogging. The past month has been a rollercoaster of events that just has not leant me the necessary peace of mind I need to write. Instead of elaborating on February's high and low points, I turn my thoughts to the sunshine pouring through my window and the advent of Spring. Birds and squirrels know what to do; I have sighted the first formations of northbound geese and signs of fresh nests. Trees start budding and we feel like opening windows to sniff the fresh air. (It really does smell different in springtime.) Furlined boots are relegated to the rear of the closet and a bunch of fresh tulips adorns my dining table.

Spring's Arrival

Without revealing my age or making any of you think about your own life span, I want to point out how we, each year, get so excited about this turn of season. No matter how many times we experience it, spring is new each and every year. Like children at Christmas, we examine the crocuses popping up through the bare ground and are amazed at forsythia blossoms defying the still very crisp temperatures.

I've been practicing my Mozart with renewed vigor and have updated the colors in my watercolor palette; ochre and Payne's Grey have given way to sap green and mountain blue.

Spring Trees

My audio choice this week was a difficult one, but only because there are so many possibilities.  I have managed to narrow the field down to two - hope they are good ones! I have long been a fan of Robert Frost (will never forget his reading at the Kennedy inauguration ) and have chosen here his renditon of "Nothing Gold can Stay." https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8SMwr_B4J-I

And just a small tribute to Nikolaus Harnoncourt, who revolutionized performance practice and interpretation of Baroque music - an inspiration for me since university days in Kansas!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9ClXA0b7K8

Nature's first green is gold, 

Her hardest hue to hold. 

Her early leaf's a flower; 

But only so an hour. 

Then leaf subsides to leaf. 

So Eden sank to grief, 

So dawn goes down to day. 

Nothing gold can stay. 

                                                  Robert Frost