How I love sweet spring time.
It seems that "being where my feet are" is easier when my feet aren't cold, when I don't have to shove them, thick socked, into insulated boots and walk with care across ice covered surfaces. My hands are happier too, free from mittens and pockets, gladly picking thick stemmed daffodils. And taking pictures is much easier without the gloves.
Ahh, spring. Every day, something seems to be happening in the garden or the pasture or the flowerbeds. The sense of expectation, hope, promise in the air is nearly palpable. The little neighbor workers wield rakes and sprinkling cans until dusk. It just seems like spring is easier, all around, than...you know...winter.
And yet. What would it be, without the winter? When reading about spring bulbs on the website of the International Bulb Society, http://www.bulbsociety.org/About_Bulbs/, I discovered that these glories of spring – tulips, daffodils, and sweet dancing blue bells, correctly known as common grape hyacinth, which are generally "...planted in the fall can survive
(and indeed require for sprouting)
the cold winter months."
Now there is a truth worth pondering.
My eyes actually feel different when I focus them on the lushness of common grass in its green splendor. (Am I the only one who feels this joyous ache?) I want to capture every ordinary loveliness and keep it "for a rainy day..."
and then today I realized that perhaps the rainy days are loveliest of all, filled as they are with quiet music and deepening colors.
"Spring-flowering bulbs must be planted in the fall
because they require a sustained "dormant" period of cold temperatures
to stimulate root development."
I would take a lesson from these humble, wordless bulbs. When I face a season of dormancy or feel left in the dark, I want to follow the example of muscari neglectum. I will develop roots. I will go deep. I will trust in the dark that spring will come and it will be glorious.