Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy!!! Warm today, warmer tomorrow, and sunny. There are planties blooming here and there, and fat buds, and by Tuesday I'll bet the beech trees will have released their old leaves.

(Is it disrespectful to call this year's fresh growth planties? They are all growing from old stock, after all, bloodroot in the woods and in my rock garden, the daffodils that have been refurbishing themselves for years, the primrose that is well established. The glory of spring is an ancient glory. How dare I look around and see babies? But I do, and come to think of it, the plants don't care a bit what I say, they care what I do, and "care" is even, surely, a too-conscious word.)

The forester who visits us every few years to inspect our property as part of the woodland protection project we signed on for says that a hundred years from now beech trees will be predominant in this woods. They surely do seem to be the trees most sturdy at growing in the shadow of the poplar, hickory, and various oaks that now stand so tall on this land. So there are lots of young beech.

Beech trees hang onto their leaves through winter. Raggedy, bleached to beige, drooping under any kind of moisture, still they stay until spring growth pushes them off. They hang on, hang on, hang on. And every year I am surprised to find that one day they are suddenly gone. This year I am trying to notice them in particular. The youngest trees, the lowest growing branches, the most shade seems to encourage the longest hanging on. I'll bet, though, that in the sun and warm air forecast for the next two days those beech leaves from last year will finally drop.

I could end here. But there is an old hymn singing in me this morning, one that was a favorite of Mother's and I, too, sang it so many times in the family group, with the church group, it is mine, now, too, even the words of the first verse. I looked up the second and third verses. Here it is:

Whispering Hope, words and music by Alice Hawthorne

Soft as the voice of an Angel,
Breathing a lesson unheard,
Hope with a gentle persuasion
Whispers her comforting word:
Wait till the darkness is over,
Wait till the tempest is done,
Hope for the sunshine tomorrow,
After the shower is gone.

(Chorus):
Whispering hope,
Oh, how welcome thy voice,
Making my heart
In it's sorrow rejoice.

If, in the dusk of the twilight,
Dim be the region afar,
Will not the deepening darkness
Brighten the glimmering star?
Then when the night is upon us
Why should the heart sink away?
When the dark midnight is over,
Watch for the breaking of day.

(Chorus)

Hope, as an anchor so steadfast,
Rends the dark veil for the soul,
Whither the Master has entered,
Robbing the grave of its goal.
Come then, O come, glad fruition,
Come to my sad weary heart;
Come, O Thou blest hope of glory,
Never, O never depart.

(Chorus)

If I do nothing else today, I hope I will walk about outside for a bit.
Oh-boy-oh-boy-oh-boy!!!