Artillery explosions. That's what spring sounds like. The boom and crash of the calving of the glaciers. The cracking booms of the of the ice slowly shattering under the pressure of the increased movement and the heat of our nearing second sun. The explosions of the ice falling and crashing into the ocean.
That's the sound of the first day of spring on Kalachakra. No sweet sounds of songbirds. No idyllic scenes. Spring is a harsh time of change on our world. It begins with artillery, a five year long gun salute. It fits our world.
Technically, spring, at least in the beginning, is bitter cold. Its still well below -20 C -4 F for you Earther Americans, but far, far warmer than the depths of bitter winter, when the grinding of glaciers gouges the ground with such ferocity it almost sounds like heavy machinery is roaring.
Most of us don't consider the beginning of Spring to be really Spring. Its when the ice begins to fall into the sea, calving, killing if you're at the wrong place; that's the start of spring.
You stand outside, even when the glaciers are calving, well away and safe, and the cold will bite at you. Winter's cold is a bitter mistress, angry at her abandonment, vicious in her last epitaphs.
Ironically, despite the bite of the shunned, the air is still. Ever so still. The bitter winter katabatic winds have all but ceased and the roaring hot winds and gentle breezes of summer have yet to arrive. If not for the noise of the falling ice, you would say it would feel like a time pregnant with change.
There is no life poking through just yet. Kalachakran terrestrial life is still hibernating and will not emerge from the ground until the glaciers cease their Kashmir bass and echo. So, not for five more years, not until seven years after the start of Spring.
When Summer is here, it will be hot, almost killing. More bitter hot than the Thar on Earth. That's the reason we live so far north: the equator is uninhabitable in the Summer. Some call it the Simmer. I guess its really not that far north. We're further south than Kyoto on Earth.
Breathe it in. Feel that cold. Feel that start of a new Great Year as the Wheel of Time, the Great Dance of the Orbits, turns. But, excuse me, Earther. I must go to get ready. Tomorrow is Holi, as we practice it on Kalachakra and I have not selected whether I will print an entire new parka this year in my bright colors or just a cloak and scarf. I need to decide and let my wife push me into what she wants.
Fair thee, well, Earther! It is Spring! It is hope once again!