when the world is puddle-wonderful

Every April, this poem from e.e. cummings floats into my brain. I suppose I need to thank Miss Jarman for making me memorize it in 9th grade.

New England springs are mud-lucious and puddle-wonderful.

They unfold slowly. The peeper frogs start singing in mid-March. The red-wing blackbirds return about a week later with the crocuses and daffodils.

It’s nearly a full month before the magnolias and cherry trees bloom — but the shockingly yellow forsythia bushes offer interim color. On the third Monday in April, basically the whole of MetroWest Boston lines the marathon route to celebrate human endurance (the endurance of the runners . . . AND the rest of us for surviving another New England Winter).

The rest of the flowering trees open like dominos through early May. By mid-May, it’s (mostly) safe to plant your garden. And the world is shockingly green for Memorial Day.

Boston winters are not my favorite. But I’m so in love with the unwrapping of spring that I can’t fathom living in a place without seasons. It’s easier to find awe in the contrasts, sometimes.

Take a glimpse below. The final picture is of “earth art” my 12-year-old son made at school last week. Do you remember the smell and feel of holding a handful of pine-needles? Me, too.

Deborah Farmer Kris * www.parenthood365.com