Here we go!

By Glenda | March 10, 2010

Here we go!

The morning has arrived when I cannot walk in the meadow without stepping on tiny purples and whites and violets, when I can stand still and watch, literally watch, the greening happening and the blooming emerging, right before my eyes.

An hour ago there were no pear blossoms, now here they are! Yesterday the peach trees carried only buds, now they are covered in blooms.

Last weekend someone asked me what that wafting fragrance was, and I didn’t know; now it’s obvious: paperwhites, yellow jasmine, honeysuckle, mingling on the sweet breeze. Was it a week ago when the snow lay inches thick on the camellia bush that is now covered completely with radiant, perfectly shaped flowers?

This morning, I went out to sip my tea in my “thanksgiving” chair Jim made for me, and as I watched the bees come back, I said to myself, “soon the butterflies;” thirty minutes later, there one was, unfurled, brilliant orange against a green leaf.

The rich pine kindling and seasoned oak logs are still stacked inside the house, next to the wood burning stove, but outside the temperature is now reaching 70 degrees, and microscopically small poppies are emerging from the wet earth.

I guess it’s time to remove the dried roses sitting on the ledge of the kitchen window, the ones I gathered last autumn the day before the first frost, and that I left there on the window ledge all winter. I kept them there to remind me that spring would return, and that I had stored up enough of summer’s passionate abundance to tide me over through the cold dormant time of winter.

That’s a practice for all seasons, I guess. Dormancy comes to us, inwardly, when it will, but if we have been ones to be richly engaged, with practices and discipline and even hard work, in the times of abundance, we can “store up” the resilience and patience and even endurance to get us through the hard times, the “underground” times of the “falling away” stages of renewal that can sometimes be as spiritually and emotionally cold and lifeless seeming as is the outer world’s dormant season.

But, oh, what a joy to step out of that darkened place into the brilliant light of a March morning, to hear the hawks and watch the redbirds, to touch a tree and feel, feel, the sap rising. I feel the stirring too within me, my blood quickening with the surging life force of spring, my heart soaring with the hawks, and little spring flowers growing out of my soul’s deeply composted, well wintered soil.

Oh, yes! Here we go!

One comment | Add One

  1. Anna Beatty - 03/11/2010 at 9:22 am

    Last week, robins came through our yard. Heading north. A large flock landed in the back yard on the south side of the house. An hour or so later they were on the front lawn and across the street. Then they were gone. Heading north.

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