The onset of spring in Kyiv is different from that of Moscow or London. The peculiar atmosphere is created neither by the noisy crows and sparrows trying to drown out each other's calls or by the yellow-breasted chickadees (though Moscow surely has some), which sit fearlessly on branches peeled by winter.
Over the past weeks, I have fed these hardy little birds with Ukrainian salo from the balcony of my 12th floor apartment, and they are now fluffy and round, like winged tennis balls.
Kyiv's spring does have some signs typical of other cities in the Northern Hemisphere. Who has not witnessed these incredible changes? In the morning, it is a bit frosty, and warm clothing is prudent. By midday, though, the winter coat becomes too heavy, shoes feel as though they do not belong to you and become heavy and either too tight or too loose. Your body cries out to be stretched, and you unbutton the coat, walking cheerfully and briskly, not wanting to miss a single ray of the reviving sun!
You saunter past shop doors bearing notices: "Close the door, please. It is cold." Is it? Is it really so cold in this shop warmed by the sun and working heaters? Even sales promising "up to 50% off all winter items" do not entice on such an afternoon! You walk, becoming a part of spring.
I remember the spring of my adolescence. Then, huge snowdrifts that thawed and sagged in the afternoon sun unkindly hosted spring. By evening, they were covered with a glossy crust of fragile ice. How pleasurable it was to step on them the next morning, producing crackling sounds and sensing the cold, soft emptiness underneath!
And the first spring flowers were preceded by pussy willows in bloom! The riverbank was not encased in asphalt then, and the Dutch flower merchants had yet to dream of the East European market. Natural gardens of pussy willow were all around, and were frequented by male pilgrims in the days proceeding March 8. The branches of pussy willow, symmetrically strewed with tender white furry pearls, were the first gift men offered to women in springtime.
What are the signs of Kyivan spring?
The Dnipro's course breaks free of ice, the water wearing away the frosty crust, cracking it to pieces, making way for the return of vessels with their seagull escorts. Years ago, small wooden houses shared the waterway with boats. Broken loose by a flood somewhere in the Desna estuary, they floated downriver. A lone rooster, confused, sat on the roof of one shack, leading the convoy.
The forlorn rooster may have glimpsed the bright blinding luster of the Pecherska Lavra's golden domes, best viewed from the river. They rise from the treeline to touch the sky's mysterious blue abyss. The call of the Lavra bells becomes louder and clearer in the first days of spring, hovering over the city, reluctant to fade.
But these are not the most certain signs that spring has arrived in Kyiv. The surest sign is a secret: the fresh scent of sun-tinged air tickling the nostrils, the sweet fragrance of autumn leaves, the intoxicating gusts of the steppe wind, and a stirring of the soul that is special and unique. Each of us bears the secret of Kyivan spring, a secret that cannot be imparted, but that is shared by all.
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