Reaching for the Light

Siberian squill (Scilla siberica) 

 

One day, there are deep snowdrifts in the garden, and the next day, the the snow has disappeared into the good dark earth.

Suddenly, tiny flowers are springing up everywhere, reaching for the light over their fragile heads. Grasses thrust themselves out of puddles in the park, and a few ducks paddle up and down the little stream among the trees.  Everywhere, there is birdsong, every feathered singer in the overstory declaring its delight in the season.

On morning walks, we (Beau and I) look for sprouting bloodroot, trout lilies and daffodils in the woods, and we rejoice whenever we see a tiny green leaf lifting its head from the moist, crumbly soil and desiccated leaves.

It will be a week or two before there are many spring bloomers in the woods, but there are already a few tiny purple squill flowering in last autumn's tattered residue on the forest floor, and we were happy to discover them on a recent ramble.

Sometimes, we thought winter would never end, and there are days when we still think that. On balmier days though, we can hardly believe our good fortune. Every sunbeam and every tiny bloom is a gift.