Listening to the sound of snowdrops ringing brightly,
Waking all across the land from their winter’s sleep.
With the croci’s stamen vibrating like a bass’ strings,
Vibrating throughout Britain’s gardens and fields.
A melody sung in harmony by newborn baby lambs,
Backed by the reliable evergreen ash, pine and holly.
This sets off daffodils dancing in the springtime breeze,
Blowing their trumpets as only ones so narcissistic can.
Trying to drown out the sounds of their rival bluebells,
Who have long dominated the woodlands and forests.
The tulips try to act as independent and impartial judges,
And let their red be a reminder of love not hate to all.
Then there are cherry blossoms dressed in pink and white,
Singing a duet that begins the next act to the spring opera.
Each white petal glides like a majestic swan as it falls,
And the pink as though thrown as confetti at a wedding.
A bittersweet relationship that is doomed to always fail,
As into the gutters they land to be swept away forever.
Let us not forget the biggest diva on Planet Earth is left,
For humanity is the fat lady that must sing the final aria.
Thinking their modern songs with autotune are far greater,
And their cover versions far better than all nature can do.
Finally before the curtain finally falls the days get lighter,
As colour fills Earth as a symphony of sound and visual.
The autumnal opera opens with the air biting like a bitter lemon on dry lips and the air smelling of decaying leaves and wood smoke. A prima donna sings an aria that touches almost every leaf, painting them every shade of red, yellow and orange; each colour matching the notes of her song. This is then echoed by a chorus throughout the land, turning forests to fire with colour. At the same the daily rhythm goes from legato to staccato, as the day length gets shorter, which in turn makes the leaves fall like ghost notes as few hear the sound of them falling. The crunch underfoot as walk through them is like listening a plucked cello playing, which is at times drowned out by the violins mimicking the sounds of human traffic. Then as the final note is sung, trees stand bare, and the theatre empties till all is silent. Well at least until Jack Frost sings his melancholy blues next season.
After being awoken by a kiss from a Prince Charming of bumble bees, the cherry blossom blooms in pink and white across the land. Singing their duet that in turn wakes up the northern world to spring, from the first act of the grand opera that is nature’s own ring cycle. Climaxing as it falls like a spring snow onto both pavements and roads. Each white petal glides slowly down as though a majestic swan, and each pink petal as though it were confetti from a wedding. Like tears, they are swept into gutters, and their relationship is over…well at least for a few months. Thus the curtain falls and ends act one.
Act two opens with the lambs’ chorus, to which they dance around the fields among the daffodils. The lambs are like children and their white coats mark their innocence, as spring’s story is one celebrating birth and new life. The daffodils along with the tulips and bluebells when touched by the wind sing and dance their songs. Not forgetting the biggest diva of Planet Earth has to sing her aria, such is the human way, thinking their own song is the most important element of them all. Finally, the days gradually get lighter at night, these are the notes of nature’s songs getting longer till act two ends.