There is a tree outside my window that started to blossom the very beginning of February. I thought the blooms were doomed to early death, but they have persevered through more snow, rain and wind than paper-thin petals ought to be able. What a brave, tenacious tree. I am glad for its bulldog determination to announce the new season, even in contrary weather.
Everyone waxes poetic about spring and resurrection and baby chicks hatching and new life, especially pastors, who seem to be irrationally proud that the natural world coincides so nicely with the Church calendar and their sermons, as if Christ's resurrection actually caused chickens to burst forth from eggshells and plants to shoot out of the ground. (I sort of wish that IS what happened on that Third Day. What a sight! Baby animals, plants, trees, green things, popping into existence like fireworks!) I am not claiming, therefore, to say anything very new about how springtime provides tangible reminders of that great New Life that is the crux of our human history. It does do those things, but I am neither the first nor the last to notice.
Nonetheless, it is nice to sit on one's front porch in the evening with some chamomile tea in order to watch the sun sweetly stain the Western sky. It is also nice to see blooming cherry branches curled delicately in the day's last light. No matter how many people have thought the same, spring is still hopeful.
3 comments:
I am glad that hope has finally found you. (Also, I can't wait for that chocolate you promised.) :)
Yeah, Easter happens to everyone, even in Australia where baby chicks are big fat hens already and the bunnies are now breeding rabbits.
i like fireworks.
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