Saturday, March 29, 2008
Winter's Persistance, Spring's Hope and My Little Soldiers....
This small troop of soldiers has been steadfast and faithful every spring for the last eight years. Right now they are hunkered down; bellies in the bunkers, protective spears pointed at the enemy...a potential army of hope. They are the determined platoon of my tulips that have endured seasons of assault. Upright and brave, they know instinctively not to unfurl their beauty and expose their vulnerability to the vagaries and whims of the season's wrath, petulance and moodiness.
The rabid dogs of Winter are still at the gate. Frothing and foaming, they have sent wind, rain, hail and snow. I can hear their claws scratching to be let loose. The gabble ratchet of their voices has filled the air. They are hell bent.
Mother Nature, on the other hand, is doing her best to keep the gate closed to Winter's scrabbling hands. She sneaks the gate open, sometimes tentatively, at times with hope.
Spring glides forth in all of her beauty, like a shy young woman at her first cotillion, then like a brazen hussy she blares her blueness and assaults our eyes with her brightness. She is nothing more than conflicted. Dancing at Mother Nature's gate, she slides in and out without purpose or determination. She is young and unformed: She is testing the waters in her hesitancy. She needs time.
Indecisive, Mother Nature closes the gate once again and allows Winter to wrest the birds from the sky. Winter steals the words of my breath in a meaningless mist: Winter sends the wood smoke in messages that confound the newly arrived humming birds. Winter pounds us in a cacophony of ice, darkness and melancholy.
I will take heart and mirror the courage of my little army of tulips: Be full of hope, be brave and protective of one another. Embrace the message that Spring will come in all of her mature glory and we will be filled with joy: A promise to have the space and place to bloom, to rejoice.
edited to add:Winter blasted through today; snow, hail, wind and rain. Spring shed her blue gown, her daffodil yellow hair.
I can wait. My faithful soldiers still stand at attention. They will relax their spears when all is safe; opening them as colorful receiving cups to welcome Sister Spring.
All will be well.