Spring

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Title:     Spring
Author: John S. Adams [More Titles by Adams]

IT is early spring-time. The winter has passed with reluctant step, and even now the traces of its footsteps are discernible on every side. At noon of these bright days the sun looks down smilingly upon the soil it seeks to bless with its cheerful, cheering rays. The tiny grass-blades peep out, and stretch forth their graceful forms, as if to thank the unknown source from which their enjoyments spring. "Unknown," I said. Is it "fancy" that makes my soul withdraw that word, and suggest that it may be that even that blade of grass recognizes the hand that ministers to all its wants? I think not. I think that what we term "fancy" and "imagination" are the most real and enduring portions of existence. They are of that immortal part that will live after crumbling column and the adamantine foundations of earth have passed away, and lost their present identity in countless forms of a higher existence. Are not all the forces of nature unseen, yet are they not real? Most assuredly they are. But I am talking of spring. I hinted at winter's tardy withdrawal. Look you how that little pile of snow hides itself in yonder shady nook,--right there where the sun's rays never come; right there, as if ashamed, like a man out of place,--pity that it lingers. Here and there, at the side of the brook, a little ice is waiting to be dissolved, that it may bound away, bright and sparkling, over the glistening pebbles.

The farmer opens his barn doors that the warm, fresh breeze may ramble amid its rafters. The cattle snuff the refreshing winds, that bear tidings of green fields. The housewife opens door and windows, and begins to live more without than within.

Let us to the woods. How the old leaves rustle beneath our tread! Winter bides his cold, wet hand underneath these leaves and occasionally we feel his chilling touch as we pass along. But from above the pleasant sunshine comes trickling down between the branches, and the warm south wind blows cheeringly among the trees. Didst thou not hear yon swallow sing, Chirp, chirp?--In every note he seemed to say, "'T is spring, 't is spring."

Yes, 't is spring; bright, glorious season, when nature awakes to new life and forest-concerts begin.

Up with the window, throw open the closed shutter, let the fresh air in, and let the housed captive breathe the invigorating elixir of life; better by far than all your pills and cordials, and more strengthening than all the poor-man's plasters that have been or ever will be spread.

The bale and hearty youth, whose clear and boisterous laugh did the old man good, as he heard it ring forth on the clear air of a winter's night, has become satiated with the pleasures of sleigh-rides and merry frolics, and welcomes the spring-time of year as a man greeteth the return of an old friend from a long journey. How his bright eye flashes with the joyous soul within him, as he treads the earth, and beholds the trees put forth their buds, and hears the warblings of the birds once again, where a few weeks since winter brooded in silence!

In town and country, the coming of spring changes the general appearance of affairs. Not early nature, but men change. There is no longer the cold and frigid countenance. Men do not walk with quick and measured tread, but pass carelessly, easily along, as though it was a luxury and not a task to walk. Children are seen in little companies, plucking the flowers and forcing the buds from their stems, as though to punish them for their tardiness.

The very beasts of burden and of the field partake of the general joy; as Thomson says, "Nor undelighted by the boundless spring Are the broad monsters of the foaming deep From the deep ooze and, gelid cavern roused, They flounce and tumble in unwieldy joy."

In the town storekeepers obtain fresh supplies of goods; the mechanic contracts new jobs; the merchant repairs his vessel, and sends it forth, deeply freighted with the productions of our own clime, to far distant, lands; and the people generally brush up, and have the appearance of being a number of years younger than they were a month since.

In the country, the farmer is full of work. The ploughs are brought forth from their winter quarters, the earth is opened, that the warm sun and refreshing rains may prepare it for use; old fences are repaired, and new ones made; the housewife brushes up inside and out, and with the aid of the whitewash every old fence and shed is made clean and pleasing to the eye.

Welcome spring, a hearty welcome to thee! Touch the cheek of the maiden, and make it as bright as the rose; with thy fresh air give health to the sick and joy to the downcast. Thou bringest with thee sweet-smelling flowers, and the birds of the woods carol forth thy welcome.

[The end]
John S. Adams's Short Story: Spring

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