The Comin’ o’ The Spring
… In mony a neuk the primrose lies hid frae stranger een,
An’ the broom on the knowes is wavin’ wi’ its cludin o’ gowd and green;
Ower the first green sprigs o’ heather, the muir-fowl faulds his wing,
And there’s nought but joy in my ain land at the comin’ o’ the Spring

Stravaigin 🌱💚

Spring
Nan Shepherd

But still I must remember how the sound
Of waters echoed in my ear all night,
How fitfully I slumbered, waked, and found
The singing burns, the cataracts…

…What shout was that? what rapture, ‘Spring, ahoy!’

“I began to get a feel for my winterings: their length and breadth, their heft. I knew that they didn’t last forever. I knew that I had to find the most comfortable way to live through them until spring.”

— Wintering: How I learned to flourish when life became frozen by Katherine May