March 19, 2020 (Thursday)
Spring comes early this year–the earliest since 1896. It is usually on March 20 or 21. The event that heralds the season is known as “Vernal Equinox.” In its orbit around the sun, the earth sees the sun “rise” and “set.” It also sees the sun move from north to south and from south to north. At this time of year, it crosses the equator. Of course, the sun does not rise or set. Neither does it move north or south. The earth, tilted on its axis, does all the moving. But our view of the sun causes us to imagine it moves. Of course you know all that. I just need something to write about.
I think spring is my favorite season, although Vivaldi wrote a symphony called “The Four Seasons” that kinda makes you love all four seasons.
Here in this semi-tropical area, the seasons change but not drastically as in other parts of the country. Even here, however, growth of trees, etc. slows down to a crawl or stops during the winter months, and spring brings that new burst of greenery and blossoms.
The quotation that immediately comes to mind is, “In spring a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love,” words coined by Alfred Lord Tennyson, in his poem Locksely Hall, in 1842. I have to say, to the best of my memory, that’s probably true.
I like the old saying, “I believe in true love; I’ve had the experience many times.” Puppy love? Infatuation?
I ran across a web site that lists 64 songs about spring!
I think Frank Sinatra’s “It Might As Well Be Spring” would be on my list if I created one myself. It’s a song from the 1945 film, “State Fair.” With music by Richard Rodgers and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II, it won the Academy Award for Best Original Song that year.
It Might As Well Be Spring
Words: Oscar Hammerstein
Music: Richard Rogers
1945
I’m as restless as a willow in a windstorm
I’m as jumpy as puppet on a string
I’d say that I had spring fever
But I know it isn’t spring
I am starry eyed and vaguely discontented
Like a nightingale without a song to sing
O why should I have spring fever
When it isn’t even spring
I keep wishing I were somewhere else
Walking down a strange new street
And hearing words that I’ve never head
From a girl I’ve yet to meet
I’m as busy as spider spinning daydreams
I’m as giddy as a baby on a swing
I haven’t seen a crocus or a rosebud
Or a robin on the wing
But I feel so gay in a melancholy way
That it might as well be spring
It might as
well be
spring