Spring stirs. Small flocks of geese return overhead. The honeybees show up at a feed tank, hoping for an early fix of something to start their work. Soon the pair of bald eagles will be seen, stopping for a bit on their way back to their nest at the river. And overhead the murmuration of blackbirds, that aerial display of hundreds of thousands of the birds flying together as if they are one airborne being, flexing its muscles. The flock seems to communicate among themselves as if along its own nerve endings.
And the spring smell! It is evidence of the Earth organizing itself for another cycle of life, soon to burst out all over. The steam from the warming soil mixes with the early chlorophyll from the surging grass, making a heady scent indeed. It is what feeds us, body and soul. And even here, in our Midwest, one of the most fertile places on the planet, we subscribe to what the poet knows, that our earth is often more beautiful than useful.
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