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Spring!
My very favourite season… yellows, reds, pinks… colour bursting in all directions… new buds, new baby birds… temperatures mild enough that I can prune and dig and plant to my heart’s content without dripping buckets of sweat the way I do in summer.
As dawn cracks open the horizon, the sun splatters the eastern canvas with fiery oranges, and blushing pinks.
Early in the morning, I hear the local orchardists rummaging through the rows of fruit trees that stand sentinel, their bare branches pregnant with the promise of blossoming futures. They wander their acres, sometimes on foot, sometimes by tractor, assessing and planning and dreaming of their future harvest in a few months that pass quickly like a dandelion seed adrift in the breeze.
Having written these Man On The Fringe posts for a dozen years, I’ve probably composed a missive about spring at least every second year, such is the specialness it inspires in me.
It’s a front-row seat to the charming dance of nature that unfolds here, year after year, a performance that leaves me breathless, yet overflowing with energy all at the same time.
It’s at this magic moment that an “non-believer” like myself feels the strongest pull towards a transcendant, mystical presence that defies explanation. My sense of spirituality rises to its peak.
The days are longer, the air is sweet.
This is a love poem to an Okanagan spring, to the days that stretch languorously long, and to the blossoming of life in all its plant and animal forms.
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SUMMERLAND SPRING
In Okanagan’s cradle, sloping mountains hold the sky,
Spring pirouettes, a vision, with a mischievous eye.
A crown of apple blossoms adorns her windswept hair,
As sunlight paints the valley, a canvas sweet and fair.
She waltzes through the orchards, where branches sway in time,
A chorus of pear and cherry trees, in a sweet, melodic chime.
Her laughter, a sunny gentle breeze, whispers secrets in the leaves,
A promise of harvest bounty, the valley’s heart believes.
With each twirl, a vibrant petal paints the waking ground,
A tapestry of colour, where dreams come to surround.
Honeybees, her busy troupe, flit on joyful wings,
Carrying stories on the wind, of the life that Springtime brings.
Vineyards stretch forth, green arms to greet the sun,
Awakening from slumber, the dance that’s just begun.
And grapes, like emeralds nestled, swell in clusters tight,
Transformed by summer’s touch, to wines of pure delight.
By the lake, a mirrored canvas, reflect cerulean blue,
The symphony of Spring unfolds, a masterpiece anew.
From mountain peaks to valleys, a vibrant, verdant stage,
Where life awakens, reborn, on history’s weathered page.
We call this hamlet Summerland, where hope and beauty meet,
And celebrate the dancer’s grace, with springtime at her feet.
For in this valley’s embrace, where magic takes its flight,
Spring’s adventurous rhythm dances sweetly to the light.