Spears of hope

The garden has been enveloped in white mist most days. It rolls up the hill from the valley below.

It’s no surprise that the snowdrops, so often in bud by now, prefer to remain hidden under their blankets of moss. All but one clump at the bottom of the garden, that is, whose white buds hang like droplets, soon to open and release their delicate, honey-like scent. This clump is always the first to flower, whether because of its position, or because it’s a different variety, I don’t know.

But even seeing the first protruding grey-green spears of the remaining clumps is a sign that winter is waning and spring approaches. For tomorrow is a cross-quarter day, the mid point between the Winter Solstice and the Spring Equinox; and the day that follows, Candlemas.

I love these markers in the year. They become moments to stop and reflect, to cherish each particular season, and to think about what lies ahead. And this year, perhaps more than most, will be one for holding on to the hope that the snowdrops so bravely symbolize.

 

 

 

 

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