It's been a long, blah winter without even a clean blanket of snow to hide the dormant grass and dirt. But the sun is out and temperatures are rising, fooling my daffodils into swiftly reaching out of the earth. Is there any wonder that I am eager for spring?
And with thoughts of spring, comes the anticipation of my yearly migration to The Harp Gathering. I will forever hold the two events in my memory as I recall the warming breezes, the golden sunrises over newly planted fields, and the sounds of harps in the air.
This will be the fourth spring I head off on my own to renew my spirit in the company of other harpers, harpists and the beautiful instruments they bring with them. The harps, like the people who bring them, are each unique in their own beauty. Their souls resonate through their soundboards and speak to my own in their secret language. The harpists glow from the joy of the sound washing over them.
Sound a "little over the top?" Perhaps. But, like my daffodils, I suddenly feel my arms reaching up for the warmth and light of spring - and The Harp Gathering.