Jersey Shore Magazine

J e r s e y s h o r e • S P R I N G 2 0 2 3 66 appear. In April, that Instagram of spring, forsythia bursts with bright yellow flowers, a glorious visual. If not paying attention, we often miss these beginnings. One balmy April, I glanced out my condo window catching a grandfather walking towards the dumpster to dispose of his trash. His little granddaughter skipped up to him offering a sprig of forsythia. The grandfather accepted the sprig, smiled, and walked on with his pony-tailed little granddaughter dancing around him. For me, that little girl personified spring. The English poet Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809- 1892) once said, "In spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." A more modern adage to this is, "and thoughts of baseball." When I was seven- teen and apple-green, my thoughts turned to running a high school cinder track in Brooklyn. I was striving to run my fastest time in order to earn an athlet- ic scholarship to a good college. The spring months gave me more chances to record that time before I graduated in mid-June. I went on to attend Baylor University in Waco, Texas for two years, where I ran on their track team. Then, after taking a year off, I attended The Ohio State University in Columbus, received my Degree in Education, and went on to become a teacher for thirty-eight years. While I was a teacher, part of the curriculum included the study of our local environment. An environmentalist and I took my classes to Island Beach State Park, Ortley Beach, Barnegat Bay, and Cattus Island County Park. There the children compared and learned about the flora and fauna found in each locale. Until this day, the scent of spring still stirs up the feel- ings of my youth and track. Sometimes, I'm even motivat- ed to drag out my faded college sweatshirt and running shoes. I'll go to the boardwalk and beach to do a few easy strides and a bit of jogging to get ready for Easter and the not-too-distant summer at the Jersey Shore. u Frank Finale is the author of the coffee table books "To The Shore Once More, Volumes I - III" and the children's books "A Gull's Story, Parts 1 - 3." He is also coeditor of the anthologies "Under A Gull's Wing" and "The Poets of New Jersey." Please refer to pages 7 - 9 as well as www.jerseyshorebooks.com and www.frankfinale.com for more information about his books and appearances. HOME PORT My Eternal Spring by Frank Finale A ll day the March wind roars. Uncontained recyclable containers tumble down the road, a neighbor's grill somersaults into another's hedges, and an empty box flaps its cardboard wings and flies across the street. The spring lion has arrived. As Earth leans towards the Sun, many changes slowly begin—a rejuvenation of plant and animal life. Aging, I shake off the torpor of winter, wake my eyes to colors, my nose to earthy scents, and my ears to chirping birds. This week, I'll turn that don't-waste-my-time, "Go fly a kite" phrase into some- thing positive. I'll go to the beach and literally fly one. A sea-breeze on my face will suffice. I look around. If the flag is waving and small twigs are in motion, it's enough to get the kite off the ground. One per- son's annoying waste of time is another's enjoy- ment—a time to dream and wonder while holding the wind on a string and breathing in the salt-air. It brings back the mem- ory of my father taking me to Owl's Head Park in Brooklyn and teaching me how to fly a kite for the first time, with firm but casual life-lessons thrown in… Whenever the kite or I fell down: "Get up, get up! Don't give up! Try again!" In Catholic School, third grade, one of the first poems I memorized was about the wind. By Christina Rosetti (1830-1894), I am reminded today of its simple beauty: Who Has Seen the Wind? Who Has seen the wind? Neither I nor you: But when the leaves hang trembling, The wind is passing through. Who has seen the wind? Neither you nor I: But when the trees bow down their heads, The wind is passing by. The spring rains awaken earthworms, insects, toads, frogs, and chipmunks. Crocuses, hyacinths, daffodils, and tulips all pop up to greet those looking for milder weather. The buds on bare branches, tightly curled, slowly unfold. Blades of grass, so pale, green, thin, and tiny, begin to photo by Italian Estro

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