Spring took one look at winter
Then crawled back in her hole
It’s wet and it’s cold out there
I just don’t want to go
Let somebody else be in charge
Of making the wildflowers grow
They still lie waiting
But the Rockabye tree is
All covered in snow
And when the bough breaks
The baby’s bound to go
Down to the mud and the blood
And the tears that flow below
They still lie waiting
Spring nestles quiet in her keep
Where the roots run dark and deep
Spring is fast asleep
I confess, having grown up amidst citrus orchards in Phoenix, Arizona, that the scent of orange and grapefruit trees in bloom make me horny. It is the smell of love to me. I don’t recall ever actually having made love in an orchard but I did a lot of early, hopeful exploring there and that’s almost more potent.
I was tutored in love by amazing women. I realize that we were often learning the mysteries together but they taught me to see in the dark. I have no idea what they learned from me, you’d have to ask them.
Man offers the seed of creation, woman nurtures seedlings that produce fruit and this is the magic that turns the world. It’s also what most songs are about.
God spoke to Adam
And God spoke to Eve
God spoke to the Virgin Mary
He said, y’know girl you just gotta believe
God must’ve talked a lot back then
But he don’t say boo to me
I still lie waiting
But love speaks softly
When it calls you by your name
It’s so easy to miss the meaning
Or pretend it’s just a game
But if you refuse to listen
You’ve got only yourself to blame
Love still lies waiting
While Spring turns over in her sleep
Her dreams are fairy green
But it’s only a dream
I am lucky that my wife grew up in the same town, had some of the same experiences, and responds similarly to the olfactory cues of citrus blossoms. I am even luckier that, when the women of my past show up, my wife shows them love and respect for their contributions to the man I became. Of course, she also knows I have great taste in women.
Twice this March, women who have been exceedingly important in my life reappeared. One at the Desert Botanical Garden’s Chihuly exhibit, the most astounding union of art and nature I have ever personally witnessed. I thought the same thing the first time I ever saw her. The other one showed up at the Glendale Folk Festival where I sang this song, Spring, the best song I have ever written. The blossoms were just opening and the smell nearly knocked me down. So did she.
Down by the hard road
Where the wildflowers grow
I look at them in wonder
Even though I know
Someone planted them here
Not so long ago
They still lie waiting
Waiting for a footprint
Waiting for a sign
Waiting for a raindrop
Or a little ray of sweet sunshine
Or maybe a bee will fly by
At just the right time
They still lie waiting
Spring yawns and peaks out of her hole
Looking for her shadow
Did she see it?
I don’t know
I am the groundhog’s shadow who learned to sing and I owe debts I cannot repay. I am a lucky little rodent.