Last weekend, my husband and I walked to the park down the road, and as I did walking meditation through the labyrinth, he sat soaking up the sunshine of a beautiful spring day. Gardeners were busy planting more flowers, and he struck up a conversation with one of them. I overheard him saying how great it feels to finally have spring and sunshine after the long, gray winter. The woman commented that she didn’t notice how gray it was because there were so many gray things happening. Then she said, “When gray things happen, you have to plant some flowers.”
I like that. And I like thinking of flowers as someone’s resolve to bring more goodness and beauty into the world despite it all. Although I haven’t planted any flowers myself, I have been appreciating the flowers planted by others.
After discovering the dredging equipment on the river earlier this week, I have been observing a self-imposed moratorium on kayaking until I get more information at a meeting next week. I’m not sure how long I will force myself to be landlocked. But in the meantime, I have been blissing out on flowers and budding trees – slowing down and opening my senses to the rebirth that is happening all around at this time of year.
Appreciating the way the sunlight shines through chartreuse baby leaves – the trees’ little solar panels.
The dominance of yellow: Daffodils, goldfinches, blazing forsythia.
Spearmint rising unabashedly outside our door and the complete joy of plucking a leaf and tearing it a bit to release the intensely delicious fragrance of mint and all the positive associations that go along with it.
A single dandelion puffball illuminated with sunlight. (Only an empty seed head remained the next day.)
The lilac buds growing and changing from day to day after waiting quiescently for 11 months prior, for the brief but ever so important work of blossoming for a week at most.
The ornamental trees that burst with “popcorn” buds all of a sudden, delighting the bees
…and also delighting young children who – unable to resist the temptation to snap off a little bouquet branch – walk around exclaiming, “It’s so beautiful!”
The weeping cherry blossoms that look like delicate, pink ballerina tutus arranged in choreographed clusters.
And (not photographed) the contrast of chartreuse willow branches drooping against a cloudless azure sky, and the soothing din of peepers across the river in the evening.
Kind Spring comes bearing so many grand, colorful sensory impressions to elevate us above the gravity and grayness of the world. For this, I am sincerely thankful.
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