Budding Out and Loving It

Month after month, one plumbs the wisdom of snow and tries to capture its essence with her camera, always looking for the beating heart of the long white season but not encountering it for the most part and feeling a little lost and forlorn. Oh, there are moments when the winds falls to a whisper and one can actually hear snow falling among the old trees, but those moments are few, and they are eclipsed by the bitter cold.

Then along comes springtime, a morning when shadows seem not as sharp across one's path into the woods, the morning sunlight softer, weathered rocks in the highlands warmer.  Up through sun heated stone, a tiny green shoot emerges from last autumn's heaped leaves, and it bears a fragile white bud - the whole plant is no larger than the nail on my little finger.  Behold the first trillium of the season, its delicately veined leaves enfolding a flower to open in only a few days.

Could life be more perfect than it seems in springtime? Reclining on the good dark earth a few days ago, nose to happy nose with the first trillium bud in its mothering granite, I was refreshed and renewed and simply could not have been happier.

Perhaps I too am in bud and about to bloom.