In the midst of all this, the landscape is greening, quickly. Redbuds and Dogwoods are in full bloom against the new spring green leaves of the other trees and shrubs. Hostas are unfurling from their underground lairs. With all the rain, the colors of the tree trunks darken, which makes the green stuff shine out like beacons. Stuff is just bursting out all over the place. The wildness of the storms and the wind are intensifying the already incredible displays of fecundity.
I kind of like this wild and woolly spring, even if it means sweaters and coats for a little longer. This kind of explosive growth ought to be accompanied by swirls and howls and loud crashes (I could do without the hail, though). Growth is like that. Wildly abundant and not really very controlled. Like the Spirit it blows where it will. Bucolic is nice but it belies the powerful bursting-out-ness that's really going on with the metamorphosis from winter to spring.
All of this reminds me of our own personal growth, and how we try to be polite about it when really it makes us want to run and shout, sometimes for joy, sometimes in fear; it brings us troubled dreams and daily ups and downs that flip flop between true gladness and fears of inadequacy. Remember when you were young and you had growing pains in your legs? All the thrill of getting older, getting stronger, getting bigger were accompanied by those wake you up in the middle of the night throbs and aches.
Growing is like that. It's not always gentle. Sometimes it's ferocious.