Spring is not always the same. Sometimes, April leaps onto the mountains of Virginia in one leap-suddenly, the whole stage comes alive, tulips sing in chorus, forsythia flowers dance and plum blossoms perform solo. These trees put out leaves overnight.
In other years, spring comes. It stopped because of shyness, just like my granddaughter standing at the door, peeping in, and then ducking out of sight, giggling in the corridor. "I know you are there," I cried. "Come in", April slipped into our arms.
The tender green buds of Cornus officinalis are inlaid with yellow-brown spots. In this perfect cup, there are 20 clustered seeds. People looked at the bud in awe: where were these seeds a month ago? Apples show off the ivory silk fragments of their milliner, with a slight rose color. All sleeping things wake it up, feel it, and hold April in your hands.
If you like, look at the rue anemone, or the pea patch, or the weeds that stubbornly stretch out their shoulders through the city streets. This world used to be like this, it is like this now, and it will always be like this in the future. There is no end. Who will be afraid of the distant autumn in the quiet of spring?