Austrian poet, Ranier Maria Rilke, put it this way:

“Spring has returned.  The Earth is like a child that knows poems.”

Olympic runner, Doug Larson said:

“Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush.”

The first robin, harbinger of Spring, appeared in my yard the last day of winter.

At 2:35AM EST, Spring sprang officially onto our calendars.  I lay awake from 2:00 until almost 3:00 this morning, probably because I knew the moment was coming; and part of me wanted to know what it felt like.  I like to think about the balance that occurs at the equinoxes, when night and day share equally in the 24 hours, when the earth’s axis sits straight and there might just be a momentary pause when our world is harmonious, even, and true.  As I lay in the darkness of 2:35AM, I imagined myself suspended on an invisible hammock, its four corners being held up by the four directions of the compass.  I took a deep breath and lay there completely still, completely balanced, on a totally level and invisible plane of energy — only for a moment.  It was as though I had landed there with the last snow of winter and paused between seasons for only as long as I could hold my breath.  As I exhaled, the plane tilted ever so slightly and sent me tumbling into Spring.  It’s like that with the cycles and seasons of life.  One second we’re ascending the hillside that leads from darkness into light, and the next second we find ourselves at a resting point that marks our next ascent from Spring into Summer.  The moment of breathing one season in and exhaling another is dear to me, because it offers the chance to say goodbye to the past in the same instant we greet the new present and move on toward our future.  As we mark the equinox, I will cherish the time to hold all three in my awareness at the same instant — the past, the present, and the life that lies ahead.