Well, today, this first day of spring, I think I'll follow yesterday's post about Donovan with ... another post about Donovan – and spring. Early this evening, somebody who has been stuck inside for a few days asked me how the weather was. Responding that it was in the upper '40's, I realized that it was March 21 – always an important date in my book, even if it takes me until late in the day to note its presence.
A few hours back, Nelson and I took our nightly stroll. It was 46 Fahrenheit, calm and, with daylight savings time coming earlier now, still light. Nelson, the boss, took us on our longest walk so far this year. It seems he, too, knew this is a special day. ... Much as I love music, I'm not one of those people to be found with a skinny black cord trailing from their ear and leading to an attached Walkman; when I leave the house, music is pouring from the speakers, as it is when I return – but while I'm outside, I want to hear the song of nature. As the lad and I made our way about, I thought, yet again, of the walks, of which I have read, of two people whose artistic efforts I admire: George Arliss and Daphne du Maurier. Each, it seems, loved to tramp, canine companion at heel (or running merrily ahead), England's countryside – changeless, we can romantically imagine, but by seasons. Sometimes Nelson and I go, in my mind, with George; sometimes with Daphne.
When my new Donovan CD's were trickling in, via the post, a few weeks ago, I fell in love with a song from what, in album form, was the second record, "For the Little Ones, " of the singer/songwriter/musician's two-part "A Gift from a Flower to a Garden." This celebration of the season of rebirth is called "The Lullaby of Spring." There is mystery in the minor chords – immaculately rendered, in this performance, by solo acoustic guitar – and wonder in the words, so richly evocative of the most magical time in the year.
The Lullaby of Spring
Music and Words by Donovan Leitch
Rain has showered far her drip;
Splash and trickle running.
Plant has flowered in the sand;
Shell and pebble sunning.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by.
Mother bird eating cherries.
In a misty tangled sky,
Fast a wind is blowing.
In a newborn rabbit's heart,
River life is flowing.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
From the dark and whetted soil,
Petals are unfolding.
From the stoney village kirk
Easter bells of old ring.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
Rain has showered far her drip;
Splash and trickle running.
Plant has flowered in the sand;
Shell and pebble sunning.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
Music and Words by Donovan Leitch
Rain has showered far her drip;
Splash and trickle running.
Plant has flowered in the sand;
Shell and pebble sunning.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by.
Mother bird eating cherries.
In a misty tangled sky,
Fast a wind is blowing.
In a newborn rabbit's heart,
River life is flowing.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
From the dark and whetted soil,
Petals are unfolding.
From the stoney village kirk
Easter bells of old ring.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
Rain has showered far her drip;
Splash and trickle running.
Plant has flowered in the sand;
Shell and pebble sunning.
So begins another spring;
Green leaves and of berries.
Chiffchaff eggs are painted by
Mother bird eating cherries.
