Friday, March 13, 2015

No. 140 – March 12, 2015 – Is It Spring Yet?

by Melinda Pillsbury-Foster

An exciting moment occurred when I went out to the car this morning and noticed the area where the snow had melted over night. Bending down to make sure my eyes were not deceiving me I grass. Several square inches of it. Amazing.

The tiny patch now visible was surrounded by extrusions of mud, which looked like mounds of chocolate. I learned when I was around 18 months that appearances in this regard can be deceptive. We all remember such moments, which teach us discernment. I looked closer. Definitely a new green, filled with life.

Since Ashtabula has been shrouded in snow which came down over and over again, each time leaving an uglier residue of brown and gray had I found myself wondering if spring would ever arrive – at least before the 4th of July. That faint touch of spring-green flattened, but triumphant despite the load of snow which weighed it down, provided the answer.

Spring comes in its own time, but it arrives bringing renewal of life and hope. Getting into the car I felt uplifted, as if a great weight had been lightened.

I know not to expect too much too soon. It will be some days before those first buds burst from the skeletal bushes and trees along the street. The dire piles of shrinking sludge must continue to melt into the soil and paving, sending water captured as snow many weeks ago on its way into the ground. But the Mud does not last for very long. Now, we can see past it to the rioting of flowers which seems to say, “all seasons bring gifts.”

When you see that first glorious daffodil you forget, like a mother after a three day labor first holding her baby close because what you hold is so essential to the journey of seasons, and years which comprises the whole of our lives as individuals.

Watching a flower bloom, first unfolding from the enclosing green to reveal its colors and scent touches us, reprising as it does, our own journey from someplace to here. Watching the full cycle of life, the wilting and curling into itself, also carries its message.

The whole of life carries in each part messages for each of us. What do you see first? What is your own experience? What have the seasons said, tiny whispers in your ear, as you discovered them?

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