As we enter the last half of April and National Poetry Month 2024, I’m enjoying the wonders of Spring re-emerging! The dandelions are out in force across our lawn and eastern meadowlarks are singing their melodic praises through my open window.
Even when there’s a hint of rain in the air (as now with a 35% chance forecasted), I savor Spring’s goodness … except for the birds that insist on nesting in the shelter of my front porch! Back in January or February, I tore down the nest they’d built last year, high and out of my reach. (I had to get out the ten-foot ladder.) How did I miss their efforts at rebuilding? Alas, I can’t say for sure, but build they did, and from the porch floor, I’m unable to see whether bird-eggs are present, so I’ll forbear – for now!
But I have one overriding response: cut it out! We have an entire yard filled with various trees, so why trespass on my porch?
This time of year, dedicated gardeners make use of pruning shears to spiff up their flower beds and gardens. Though I greatly admire these experts of husbandry, I can’t be counted among them. My raised bed garden (pertinent posts in 2012, 2014 and 2015) wasn’t a huge success and I’m okay with that. I defer to others more talented than me.
When I glimpse a pair of pruning shears, however, I’m often given to reflections about life itself, and especially, the pruning efforts my Heavenly Father makes to cut out unsightly weeds and detritus. Whether painful, helpful or both, pruning is necessary.
Months ago, I wrote the light verse poem below. While I don’t mean to make light of those who’ve experienced an -ectomy (whatever kind of excision has occurred), I’m prone to look at the humorous side of things and this poem is a sample of my twisted sense of humor. (If we stop laughing, life will become very grim.)
The Pruner’s scalpel can seem cruel … but often saves us from a more serious ill. I’m thankful for each cut.
