On Sunday Genie and I went for a walk in Mount Auburn cemetery. There is quiet beauty there. The intricate tombstones and monuments are sometimes breath taking.
One of the things that made our walk there wonderful for us was that though we were in the midst of memorials to death we saw life stirring everywhere we looked. Buds on trees, small clusters of snowdrops, and birds singing differently than they did just a few months ago. And today I saw the witch hazel in bloom here at the Church. And just outside my hose, in a sunlit corner where the porch meets the building, a bunch of daffodils stands;. One of them was just beginning its unfolding this morning, its first petal freeing itself from the green sheath that encloses it.
It is still early March, but already the seemingly unstoppable urges of new life are slowly emerging.
Spring is one of my favorite times of year—especially late spring when it is warm out. Yes, I prefer it more than early spring with its still chilly days. In early spring the emerging is slow and tentative; by May it is roisterous and boisterous, a rising bursting of life. (I confess that I like summer still more, when spring’s promise has unfolded into present reality.)
The joy of spring is partly that within me there is an emergence. Somehow the springing up of green and flower all around me either creates or coincides with the springing up of green and flower within me. I come alive in spring; that is, I come alive in a new and more vibrant manner. There is something in me that—along with the snowdrop, crocus and daffodil—opens to hope and possibility.
May spring once again represent to each of us the renewal of possibility in our own lives, the leaping forth of potential and rebirth. So let it be.