Spring Tiptoes In

Photo by Kathy Joy

Most years, Spring's official arrival gets top coverage on all the media outlets. In winter-weary climes like mine, the first glimpse of a crocus is a metaphor for hope.

Likewise, the first mild morning - that particular morning when you trade in the heavy coat for a mere sweater - is cause for celebration.

But this year it's different. This year, we are self-isolating; hunkering down, finding new ways to fix canned beans.

While the coronavirus crisis dominates the news, Spring tiptoes in: Hesitantly, on cat-like feet, it slinks in sideways, taking a seat in the shadows.

Is anybody noticing that shift in the breeze, that heady buoyant quality that tousles pigtails and tugs playfully on sequestered souls?

Robins, oblivious to the pandemic, are leaning in for earthworms, pausing only to trill their signature birdsong.

Living things are stretching their roots beneath our feet, wriggling and rejoicing at the approach of the resurrection.

It's all happening, all around us, despite the looming dread of COVID-19.

Tight-fisted rhododendrons are ready to unfurl in bursts of pink, purple, red and white; forsythia hedges will soon be trumpeting their yellow splendor; daffodils not far behind in their marching brigades of buttery magnificence.

If we could just part the curtains on Spring's arrival and take a peek, we might be astonished.

We might be gladdened.

We might be reminded Who's got this whole weary world in His hands.

Photo by Benjamin Davies of Unsplash 

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