THE SCENE

Spring came late this year, and if Washington follows form, it will evaporate all too quickly into the stifling smother of summer. Before it goes, two reflections, one bittersweet and the other a child's untainted eye for nature's beauty.

With Renewal Comes Loss

Spring arrives with a hint of sadness. The woods blossom with showy azaleas, yellow violets and modest cinquefoils. The Louisiana waterthrush's slurred whistles echo along streams. Phoebes are laying eggs under the porch eaves.

But it's also when the most beautiful song in the woods vanishes. It will be gone in two or three weeks as the last white-throated sparrows head north. Then the high, plaintive whistle that greets me every morning as I stumble out to retrieve the paper will be gone.

The whitethroats are handsome little brown birds, with golden yellow dots in front of each eye and a white patch under the chin set off by gray breast and cheeks. Their crowns have sharply contrasting stripes. The call begins with one or two clear lower notes, followed by three or four higher quavering tones. (Bird guides suggest the call has the cadence of " Poor Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody.") For me, it is spring in mourning and triggers memories of the losses that often found me when the dogwoods were in bloom.

-- John Pancake, staff writer

The Seeds of Wonderment

Dandelions are weeds. We pull them up, we spray them -- we do whatever it takes to get rid of them. Can you remember a time when you did not look at them as weeds? A time when you actually cherished them enough to pick them because you appreciated their beauty and not because you felt they were a nuisance?

Several years ago, my family and I took a Washington bus tour. It was a beautiful spring day, and all of the flowers were in bloom. My daughter, who was 9 or 10 at the time, wanted to pick the flowers, but the bus driver told her that this was not allowed. On our next stop, she got off the bus and immediately spotted a patch of bright, yellow dandelions.

"Can I pick those?" she asked the bus driver, pointing towards the dandelions.

"Sure!" said the driver. "You can pick as many of those as you like! They're just weeds."

My daughter, pleased as could be, hopped off the bus and started picking the dandelions.

"Why don't you pick just a few at each stop?" I suggested. "Then, by the end of the day, you will have a whole bouquet of dandelions."

She seemed satisfied with this suggestion, and for the rest of the day, every time we got off the bus, she would pick a few dandelions.

My son, who had been a silent observer for most of the day, suddenly commented, "Why pick all of those dandelions when they are just going to die? Besides, they are just weeds."

My daughter smiled and said, "No, they will turn into seeds, and then I will blow them into the sky, and they are beautiful."

-- Leslie Morrissette, Fairfax Station