Spring is my favorite season. It's a time of re-birth in nature. Every year in late February, I smile when I see the dull green of daffodil shoots poking up above the mulch. By March the yellow bouquets are gracing my front yard, followed by bright red tulips, that are wider than they are tall, and purple hyacinth with its stems of heady bell-shaped flowers.
And now, in April, the tender yellow green leaves of trees mix with the subtle fragrance of flowering trees. Standing beneath the canopy of pink and white blossoms, my mind goes to Sweet Sixteen birthday parties and weddings with sophisticated brides. Spring is intoxicating and transformative.
To an alien from another planet, spring is a downright miracle.
I think to myself, "Why now? And what was it doing for three long years, before it got up the courage to bloom again?"
Plants are a wonderful metaphor for people. We need time out, a dormant winter to fill up the reserves, a period when everything is brown and gray and still.
When it is our time to bloom, we live in full Technicolor and breath something new in the air that wasn't there before. Perhaps it's a new understanding around a piece of work or a creative idea that burst onto the scene of your mind and just won't let go. Or maybe it's a collaboration that has waited long enough to develop and is now ripe for harvesting. In any case, your time is now. You can feel it.
No matter how long you've waited, whether it's a season or like my orchid, several years, it's a matter of letting life take its natural course, surrendering to the flow of the moment. A friend told me that she sees people in their fifties either wither or blossom. She predicts that I'll blossom in my fifties. I think she's right. I can feel it.
Today, my sister and I took not just one, but two walks marveling at the re-birth of our surrounding landscape, stopping to take in the smells of blossoms that will be gone soon. My sister remarked that spring is also her favorite time of the year. Then she said something that stuck in my mind.
"It's too bad that spring doesn't last very long."
Ahh, how true! And how appropriate that it doesn't last very long, that it is only our memory of spring that keeps us company for the rest of the year. Because when I am slowing down after a busy growing season, and taking in the sound of leaves underfoot, I know that winter will come...and go. While the world is deep in the silent snowdrifts of an icicle-decorated evening, I remember what it is like when the tips of daffodil leaves peek through the warming soil.
I remember what re-birth smells like, feels like, and looks like. It provides me with hope for all seasons.
What does spring mean to you? Share your thoughts in the comments below.