Signs of spring

When I checked the flower beds on Tuesday, there was no purple in the front row of flowers. On Wednesday look what I found! How is it that these flowers all bloomed on the same day? What is it about their very nature that compels them to open their delicate petals and bless the earth with their intense color? And why do some live only days, like these crocus, and some last for weeks, like the tulips I can see beginning their journey from the earth?

I have always preferred spring and fall weather. One reason is that, while I resist change in my daily life, I do so enjoy the changing of the seasons. In the spring, I love to see the colors change from brown to green to an incredible rainbow of colorful flowers. It is exhilirating to be outside again and feel the sun on my body. Even the 60 degree temperature seems like heaven, after the months of bitter cold.

In the fall, I love to see the colors change from green to brown, red, yellow and orange. I look forward again to the crisp, chilly air and the first time I can see my breath in the morning. Then, the 60 degree temperature feels like a cool relief after the unbearable heat of the summer.

Another reason I prefer these seasons is that they don't last long. There is something almost magical about fleeting moments. I feel the same about twilight and dawn. The color of the sky changes, the sounds of nature begin to diminish or awaken, the temperature drops or rises. You have to stop and enjoy these moments while you can, because they are so easily missed.

As a child, I felt the same way about Christmas. The magic of the first snow, the decorations that only last a few weeks, the incredible smells of baked delights. Now, as an adult, I am surprised at how much earlier Christmas seems to arrive each year, and it doesn't hold quite the same magic for me that it did when I was young.

Back to the crocus. Five days after the purple beauties made themselves known, all the color is gone. A few petals remain in the dirt at the foot of the green stems and leaves which still have life, but most have blown away. The scattered remnants serve as a reminder of what just days ago was a glorious sign of spring. A few days later, another snow storm.

As so often nature can be a metaphor for our own lives, this brief but brilliant existence causes me to reflect on my own life on this planet. As a child, I couldn't even comprehend what it meant to be 30 years old. I assumed it would happen to me, but it would take forever to get there. Now I'm gaining on 40, and I'm already planning for retirement. I've even purchased a burial plot. It has taken years to get where I am. I hope and plan for many years yet, but they are passing more quickly the older I get. And I wonder about the fact that to someone, somewhere, my many years here may seem like only days. I wonder about what I can do to make my own brief existence be brilliant. I consider ways I might be like the crocus, and be cause for joy to someone seeking signs of change and warmer days. I hope that when the color fades and disappears, there will still be hope.

What's this? The daffodils are budding.