Signs and teachings of spring in times of darkness
While we grapple with the battle that lies ahead in our country, I’m finding joy, solace, and rest when I need it in nature. I’m fortunate to live in a neighborhood in New York with a lot of green space. I’m close to Brooklyn’s Prospect Park and my neighborhood’s streets are lined with towering London Plane trees that are nearly 130 years old.
When I walk outside of my apartment, I always pause to look at the trees on my block. They have seen so much change, and have continued to rise, to survive. In my meditations, I imagine myself as one of them, reaching ever upward toward the light.
As I was coming home last week, I saw a small vine, climbing up the side of one of the London Plane trees. Small and purposeful, determined to defy gravity through its efforts, on tiny step at a time. How can we keep moving forward, reaching up, even as forces attempt to drag us back?
On a particularly cold day, I saw the crocuses pushing through the bare, frozen ground. They would not be kept from the sun any more. It was time to bloom. I saw them in a small garden at Bowling Green near the ferry terminal, waiting for my friend, Ashley, so we could go together to Ellis Island. (More on that adventure in a separate post.)
“Aren’t they beautiful?” I heard a man’s voice say.
“They are,” I replied as I turned to face him. “Crocuses are small and mighty flowers.”
“What did you call them?” he asked me.
“Crocuses,” I repeated. “They’re the first flowers to bloom. They tell us spring will be here soon.”
“You mean they tell us we made it? We made it through winter?” he asked.
I laughed. “Yes, that’s right. We made it.”
We high-fived. “I learned something today. Miss, God bless you. I’m gonna tell the people who take care of this garden about this.”
I’m stilling think about this man’s joy as he realized we had made it through, that perhaps our best days are still ahead of us. How can we hang onto that idea in the midst of turmoil?
March’s flower is the daffodil. As a March baby, I always associate their arrival with my birthday. It’s also the official flower of New York City. My dear soul dog, Phineas, loved to put his beautiful, formidable snoot right into them when we’d walk together in Central Park so they always remind me of his beautiful spirit.
On my way to an appointment on Thursday, the first day of spring, I smiled as I saw legions of daffodils swaying in the soft wind. Nothing would keep them from heralding a new season. Nothing would keep them from their joy. Not the rain or the cold or the grey skies. They were born to sing. So are we.