Another Form of Hope

What motivated me to walk this morning in the unusually chilly weather–after the winter coat and gloves had been retired to the depths of the closet–was the hope of cherry blossoms, wood peckers, and new, green growth on the path up the hill and through the woods.

We spy the Wood Pecker, and we surmise that the cherry blossoms will emerge tomorrow morning.  I note the arrival of the male Northern Cardinal who will surely begin nest construction any day now.

The hope of it all–the watching, the waiting, and the joy of growing things–comes in this new form. The hope of winter–the stillness of frozen patterns in ice and snow and barren landscapes–was a different kind of hope. The hope of autumn–the beauty of leaves that fall and settle–was its own form, too.

I love each season, and even though I know what’s going to happen, I still dwell in wonder.

My youngest daughter shrieks with joy because the window greenhouse dahlia and basil seeds have sprouted already. We all race up the stairs to see. We’re running like children at the gates of Disney World.

I remark about the money we spend on entertainment and exciting getaways for our children. That pleasure never matches the wonder of growing things, blooms, and nests. I remember the riches of nature always available to us, and I’m so thankful for this brand new season of joy. It only costs us a walk to school and the attentiveness to and welcoming of wonder into our hearts.

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