Normally, the weather is fairly dreary around here up until at least mid-April, after which it clears up, and then – right when we’re getting used to wearing shorts again – it drops back down to remind us that we’re not quite out of the woods yet. This year seems to be a bit different; we’ve experienced some unseasonably warm weather of late and the smells of spring are all around. Of course, this could be short lived because the meteorologists are claiming that we’re going to go through a delightful little cold snap by this time next week. No matter, I’ll enjoy it while it lasts.

I once read that smell is the strongest of senses; something to do with the way that the nose is wired into the brain dating back to the time when we were crawling out of the seas, or into the tress, or out of the trees. Or something like that. No matter what the reason, I agree completely. Nothing takes me back to years past quite like certain smells, and that includes the change of the seasons. I’ve always equated the smell of fall with tension, with a sort of anticipation for the privations of the winter to come. Spring, however, has always been the opposite. Spring smells happy, a time for new beginnings.

Today’s poem is from the mid-1700′s and is one that I was not familiar with prior to searching around for a poem this morning. I like the mood it sets, the way it reads, and to be honest, I’ve always been a sucker for classical allusions.

Epigram on the First of April

Nature is rising from the dead,
Frost and Scythian snows are fled;
Boreas to his cavern creeps,
And, tired with winter-blust’ring sleeps.
Soft zephyrs from the ocean move,
The birthplace of the Queen of Love,
And o’er the meadows, hills and dales
Play with their sweet reviving gales;
Chasing all discontent and care
And ev’ry sadness, but despair.
Ah! Chloe, when, my charming fair?

–John Winstanley