Music (just melodies, without words) helps me write, and I love that many composers echo nature in their songs. One of my favorite examples is Ralph Vaughan Williams’ The Lark Ascending, which inspires listeners to feel a sense of the divine and helps them escape from a frantic world.
If you haven’t given The Lark a good listen, pull it up on your smartphone and you’ll hear what I mean.
When lost in The Lark, I’m transported to a Michigan spring. My imagination sees dragonflies and butterflies, coasting from reeds to grasses to spring flowers at will, then moving off when a slight breeze hits. It sits on the wings of an American goldfinch, whose flight pattern dips and rises until it finds an old thistle’s flowerhead. My focus zigzags into fog, mist, and dreams.
The violins and piano notes in Beauty of Grace, meanwhile (its composer is Thad Fiscella), lead me to wander at dusk to my cottage’s driveway in the spring. Talk about the beauty of grace — the soulful melody takes me on a car ride down our wildflower-lined road, with my husband driving and me in the passenger seat.
“That chicory! It’s the prettiest!” I say. He nods and replies, “Whoa, check the sky behind you.” I look in my side-view mirror and see a sky that’s awhirl in breathtaking violets, oranges, golds, and magentas. As we cruise along, I keep my eye on the mirror and that glorious, colorful expanse that peeks through rich green pine boughs as they mingle with newly emerged spring-green leaves.
Scrutinizing those scenes in the reflective glass, I sense the rush of seasons, and how fast they come and go. The music speaks to me and I’m hand-in-hand with my husband or gathered with family and friends, lulled into sunsets, dawns, trickling streams, budding trillium, damp hiking paths. “We must make plans to do this, and this, and that,” I say, not wanting to miss a second of spring.
And so another spring unfolds, and we gleefully unwrap Michigan’s cherished gifts. Some are huge, like ocean-going freighters effortlessly gliding down the St. Clair River and no longer navigating ice. Others are tiny, like the glint of beach glass, which is most easily spotted now, just as the snow and ice melt.
Flowering asparagus pokes through the sandy loam found in our state’s western region, while walleye and steelhead dart within the intriguing Grand River (where anglers come to life), and kayaks, paddleboards, and bicycles are brought out from winter storage.
Meanwhile, lakeside towns await water-loving explorers. Our cover story puts a magnifying glass on 33 of them, revealing everything from top-notch beaches to options for picnic fare and tips for memorable outings.
Beauty of Grace (it’s one of my newest favorites, from the album aptly named “The Road Home”) has inspired me to think about the arrival of spring — and the “road home” to my cottage.
My imagination sees dragonflies and butterflies, coasting from reeds to grasses to spring flowers at will … ”
But that side mirror — and its fleeting blur of scenes — reminds me that in a few blinks I’ll see those same evergreen boughs coated with ice, and the sky will soon be packed with ominous pre-snowstorm clouds.
Michigan springs — in fact, all of our seasons — move quickly, like the setting sun in my mirror. So it’s essential that we soak up spring’s beauty and take the time to focus on its resounding, graceful notes. 
