“Finally brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely…”
March in New England is a hard time to focus on lovely. November is kind of a drag for it’s grayness – March is defined by brownness. The world around me seems enveloped in a smear of mud The snow that once was white and clean is the gray-brown of road salt and the ground newly reveled that once was green in summer splendor is now brown with dead leaves and mud.
Mud is everywhere…roads, yards, homes, cars, clothes. I have to admit I’m pretty good at suspending reality and being optimistic, but even I can have a hard time imagining mud into lovely.
Trees are lovely, flowers are lovely, clean flowing streams and crisp green lawns are lovely…even freshly fallen snow and dripping icicles are lovely, but there is just something about mud.
Perhaps mud’s “lovely” comes in the anticipation. Mud season is a season like all others and I know that “this too shall pass.” The sight and sounds and smells of mud may not be lovely in and of themselves but there is something in the air tickling the senses and teasing of spring to come. Like the first few chords of a favorite song, this March air can get the adrenaline pumping. “No, all is not as it should be yet, but it will be soon” the earth seems to say.
The lovely is there for the taking in March, it just needs to sought fiercely and held tightly.
In the midst of cold and colds, surprise snow that has over stayed it’s welcome, dirty snow/ice piles, potholes, and flooded streams, hope for change is in the air. That tricksy southern sun warmed wind catches your ear and whispers as Narnians said the spell began to break… “Aslan is on the move.” And that is a lovely thought indeed.
Letting my bare feet get a little muddy and joining up with Emily and others at Imperfect Prose.