[An Essay from My Heart]

As I watched a crocus lifting its head beneath the forsythia, warmed by gentle sunlight, a line of literature quietly came to mind. Spring, I realized, is not merely a season; it is a language that has stirred the human heart for centuries. In the simple act of a small flower pushing through the soil, I sensed the layered voices of poets and thinkers who had long contemplated this same renewal.

Rainer Maria Rilke once wrote, “Spring has returned. The Earth is like a child that knows poems.” Gazing again at the crocus, I understood what he meant. The earth, after a long winter of silence, seemed to recite a poem it had patiently memorized. Spring is not loud; it is recited softly, like a child whispering verses learned by heart.

William Wordsworth urged us, “Come forth into the light of things, let Nature be your teacher.” In that moment, nature indeed became my teacher. The fragile shot breaking through the cold ground offered a clearer lesson than any textbook: patience, order, and trust in timing. Nature never hurries, yet it never fails to arrive. Spring does not rush, but it is always faithful.

Emily Dickinson wrote of a peculiar brightness: “A light exists in spring / Not present on the year / At any other period—.” That light is not merely physical illumination but a quiet stirring within the soul. Only those who have endured winter can truly recognize it. When the soft spring breeze brushes my face, I feel that subtle radiance awakening within a hope difficult to explain, yet unmistakably real.

Leo Tolstoy described spring as “the time of plans and projects.” Spring, then, is not only for admiration but for beginning again. It gently urges us toward renewal and intention. Just as the crocus rises with quiet determination, we too are invited to lift our thoughts and dreams toward new beginnings.

Albert Camus reflected, “In the depth of winter, I finally learned that within me there lay an invincible summer.” His words remind us that spring is not only an external transformation but an inward discovery. Perhaps while winter seemed to dominate the world, something warm and resilient was quietly growing within us all along.

Standing once more beneath the forsythia, I listen to birds singing overhead and observe new shoots emerging in the flowerbeds. Nature keeps its promises without proclamation. And the beautiful sentences left by great writers settle gently upon the scene like transparent light.

In the end, spring is where nature, humanity, and literature meet. The seasons turn, flowers bloom, and the human heart learns hope anew. Spring is not merely a change in temperature; it is a living poem—one that returns each year to awaken our souls. ***

February 21, 2026
 

At Sungsunjae (崇善齋)

{Solti}

한국어 번역: https://www.ktown1st.com/blog/VALover/348460