Here in Virginia’s Piedmont, and that includes Ruckersville, we slipped past 0537 this morning to abandon Winter and awake in Spring. Poet Bill Wordsworth did something a while back that greets this particular dawn nicely. He called his attempt “Lines Written in Early Spring.” It starts like this:
Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

As our Earth revolves around the Sun, there are only two moments each year when the Sun shines down exactly above the equator. These moments are called “equinoxes.” The Latin words literally mean ‘equal night,’ since the length of day and night is nearly equal in all parts of the world. So, most places on Earth, including Ruckersville, will see approximately 12 hours of daylight and 12 hours of night.

In the Piedmont , this equinox marks the moment when our Northern Hemisphere starts to tilt toward the sun, which means the days will be longer and sunnier. I looked for green bowers as a brilliant bright sun rose over the still barren trees and found none. Much as I would have liked periwinkles, I found none. There are some blossoms inside, which represent the Refuge Farm attempt to prime the execution of the season.

There is much we could talk about this lovely Spring morning. Presidential stumbles, atrocious crimes, acrimonious foreign relations. But having this morning with no dispute about equality of night and day, I just want to remember Old Jim’s mutter of outrage, twice a year, normally in the later hours of the afternoon at the Willow bar. Someone would bring the joy of the new season into the darkened tranquility of his Amen Corner and shout that the day was finally longer, and the earth would soon show us her bounty.

Jim would snort and put his dark long-neck Budweiser firmly on the bar. Then he would pronounce his truth: “There are exactly as many minutes and seconds as there were yesterday and will be tomorrow.” Then he would gaze about for disagreement. Finding none, he would take another triumphant sip of Bud.

It became a ritual over the years, and his seasonal irritation was greeted with the smiles of Spring. And that was the real equal time for us. And despite Bill Wordsworth’s words, I am going with Jim.

Copyright 2021 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com