Waiting for Spring
Today is the second in a row of dreary spring days. The calendar tells us that spring has sprung but these gray skies and low temperatures make me still dream of that first whiff of warm air, when I walk barefooted in my yard and insects buzz and growing things release their scent. I can’t wait for nature to unfurl her new tapestry: it frees my body and my mind to let go and releases the energy I have stored up all winter.
Right now, I feel just like those small sprouting bulbs. I tentatively put out a few feelers here and there, allowing myself just enough space to try out a new idea. But when that first day of solid spring appears, and plants grow before my eyes, I will be ready. Projects put on hold will suddenly take on a life of their own. What was just a seed of an idea will grow in leaps and bounds. After days of waiting, spring will be upon us, and I am trying to keep my eyes open to see it.
That reminds me of a conversation I just had this morning about having faith. Sometimes, I don’t want to believe that things will turn out alright. I can’t see beyond the place where I am stuck. That’s when I put on my faith hat. I have to trust myself or, in this case, in spring. I know enough to believe that those good times will come around again. And like clockwork, they do.
So, these days, when I am out in the woods or in the prairie, or along the water, on my walks, I am looking for spring. Sometimes it’s just a light color slowly introducing itself to the landscape, like those purplish canes. And sometimes, it’s more blatant, like the yellow winter aconites popping up through the woodland floor. Or I might have to really look and listen for it, like the tiny sprouts of mint poking through the garden soil and the bird calls that I haven’t heard for a while or the peepers finally peeping when a tiny bit of warmth comes their way.
In the meantime, I am working on those seeds of ideas, ready to let them grow as soon as those warm days come back. When the green carpet of spring finally arrives, I want to see it happen, just like I watched that very first snowflake fall at winter’s coming. Keep your eyes open; you might see it too.
