A Walk After Supper

We all knew that a new season had arrived in the Poconos, but only by looking at our calendars. Our small world had been hemmed in by a cold, icy winter that lasted for weeks into March and April. Occasional, pleasant days were followed by more winter. Just last week, snow and ice and bitter wind returned. Our woods remained a stubborn brown until well after Easter. But now, with temperatures soaring near 80, the event was upon us.

When I slipped out of the house after supper for a peek, I was unprepared for the spectacle. It had happened nearly overnight. Spring had emerged with such force and decisiveness that it felt like a beautiful woman had walked into the room and no one could think of anything else.

She had stepped out of her winter carriage like debutante, blushing and late for her first ball. Radiant in her pastel silks, she boasted weeping cherries, crab apples, apple blossoms, forsythia, daffodils, tulips, hyacinths, azaleas, sweet woodruff, violets and pansies -- all at once. Her gown swished softly as she moved with the tender evening breeze. The air was filled with her perfume. On her feet she bore green slippers, soft as new grass, in which she danced with the glowing sky. Bowing and smiling, ribbons trailing from her hair, she moved with ease and grace.

I walked and watched and marveled.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning's line, "Earth is crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God," filled my head. The little birds, merry in their preparations, seemed to sing it. The rustling, still bare oaks murmured it like a refrain. "Earth is crammed with heaven, earth is crammed with heaven, earth is crammed with heaven." With every step, crammed with heaven, I was carried along, hardly noticing where I wandered, until my feet ached.

And full of heaven, and earth crammed with heaven, I came home to ordinary duties. The sink of dishes, things to be put away, my husband speaking my name.

I know it now. Earth is crammed with heaven. I was given eyes to see it.