THE NEVER ENDING MAGIC OF SPRING

Hutt News, Volume 6, Issue 16, 14 September 1938, Page 10 (Supplement)

THE NEVER ENDING MAGIC OF SPRING

(By P.N.E).

Who can remain unconscious Of the romance of Spring? For long, dreary months the earth has been cold and dead and drab. Winter has cast her icy breath over the bleak landscape. Then suddenly, one day, when the sun is shining and the north wind has softened the harsh winter temperature, we notice green buds appearing on the trees. We know, from the calendar just what season we are approaching, yet each year , these manifestations, never fail to thrill us anew. The great miracle of a world reborn has begun. The sap. is climbing in the trees and the birds are singing with a new note of joyous abandon. Spring is. at hand.

Soon the birds .will be earnestly and ■busily engaged in nest-building, the air will be waTm again and rich with the fragrance of clover, of honeysuckle, and hawthorn. The bush, too —the incomparable forests which once glorified the hills of New Zealand, andi which, happily, are not yet entirely swept away—will soon be decked out in a new mantle of bright and varying greens; with great white blazes of clematis, and the drooping yellow kowhai. Which of us, who had the great good fortune to spend our earliest days within reach of the glorious 'bush, can fail each .Spring to conjure up visions of the Old Swimming Pool, of the bush tracks we-knew so well, and the hauntingiy, sweet fragrance of the wild lawyer with its riotious-blaze of delicate pink and.'cream flowers? Nothing-can so stimulate the memory as, the sweet fragrancc of spring 'flowers. Walk in the garden on a spring morning when the dew is still glistening, and each flower is filling the air with its finest perfume. Note how the perfume of each conjures up some al-most-forgotten memory, recalling the happiest incidents and scenes from the receding past. Like fine music, too, the colourful gayness and delicate perfume of spring flowers have always an uplifting and inspirational effect upon the nnnd 1 , and there is no pleasure more real and more lasting than that experienced by the home gardener, pottering happily amongst the flower-beds and the vegetable patch, working the fresh earth, and gazing with complacent satisfaction and never-ending wonderment upon the daily-wrought miracles which attend his handiwork. Old as the world—yet ever and unfailingly new—the breathless magic of Spring.