“In the oddity or maybe the miracle of life,
the roots of something new
frequently lie in the decaying husks
of something old.”
Once the rain finally stopped, the clouds blew out to sea, and the sun shone golden as it dropped towards the west, I finally felt moved to head out of doors to putter a little in the garden. How could I not? It was a rare warmish afternoon and the sun was shining.
It was only after planting out some potted Cyclamen, and a few odd things that had been languishing in a corner of the garage, that I wandered up to the top of the garden to see what there was to see. There is always something to see, even if it is nothing more than a swelling bud or a few more green leaves shyly poking up through winter’s mud.
And so it was that I braved the squishy paths and found myself wondering at the bit of fresh whiteness at my feet. Snowdrops! The first blooming bulbs of the season!
What a quiet, special moment that creeps up so unexpectedly, to see the first flower of a new spring while still in the midst of winter. It is like a sigil for what is yet to come.
The old year has passed away, but the remains of those former days remain. And out of the decaying leaves and soggy ground something pristine and fresh and bright emerges, as if by some old magic. Snowdrops are simple things, tiny and meek. They shyly nod just inches above the soil, ephemeral and fragile. And still they exhibit the sheer life force to survive and carry on irregardless of the forces of winter.
Who would not be inspired and encouraged by such a sight? Even though we have several weeks of freezing cold and winter storms ahead, spring began to stir in our garden today. In our garden, and in this gardener’s heart.
Woodland Gnome 2019