The Hope of Spring

The Hope of Spring

The daffodils and jonquils have forced their way to the surface and cherry trees are radiant in pink. The gray of winter clings by a thread while the leafless trees test their first buds sure to be held back by another frost. The dogwoods, crab trees and hawthorns await their times to provide a spectacle suitable of Georgia and a new season of hope.

Those lovely daffodils and jonquils, clipped and placed in vases are quietly delivered to long forgotten aged widows to give them a smile and the understanding that someone cares. As they carry these jewels into darkly lit rooms, these women reminisce of days when they gathered their own. It is unimportant to know how they arrive, but that their isolation is noted and gently lessened.

It is a language that speaks to the heart of new life from old. The palate of splendor seduces the ritualistic rejuvenation of nature, and ignites a longing to yield to the fraction of vitality. It is a new departure and liberation from antiquity to something reassuring and pleasurable. I linger in my desire to be fulfilled by the beauty and jubilation to soothe my heart and one more.