Spring Lambs

It’s spring on the island.  Hard to believe, I understand:  it’s in the 40s right now, on this last day of April, and there are gray skies overhead.  Tomorrow, cold rain forecasted.  The Farmer’s Almanac was right about this winter: a long one, thicker than my finger width was the black band on the wooly bear caterpillars this fall.  I’ve just barely resisted the urge to plant my window boxes full of the cheerful pansy faces I see at the market.  New England wisdom warns not to do it before Mother’s Day, and I’ve learned to heed New England wisdom (or not, but at my own peril).  I’m missing Spring, like a favorite aunt who arrives for a long visit, replete with floral patterns, perfume, and warmth.

When will She ever get here? I’ve put out the deck furniture for her.  I’ve swept my front porch.  I’m ready for Her, and still I wait.  I begin to doubt.

But, recently, I’ve seen her calling cards:

Last week:  a fat bumblebee, hazarding through azalea branches, albeit bare ones.  Then, the gambol of twin white lambs on my neighbor’s farm.

A few days ago:  two robins flying in and out of my junipers, taking turns on the nest.

This morning:  hopeful birdsong and skylight at dawn.

And this evening:  the lengthening of the day past dinnertime.

Spring’s a bit of faith rewarded, isn’t it?


The Fair Isle

The Fair Isle is a literal and figurative title for this blog. Literally, Aquidneck Island, where I live, is part of Rhode Island, actually a series of smaller islands and the state with the most coastline per mile in the entire United States. It is one of the most beautiful places in the world.

Figuratively, the Fair Isle is my writer’s mindset. It is a solitary pursuit by definition, and it is separate from the mainland of my ordinary life as a wife, mother and professional, but worth the effort to pull up anchor and venture out to it. I hope it’s a beautiful place for you to visit, just like its literal namesake.