Every morning, we race out to the side of the house to check if the daffodils have bloomed.
Not yet. Soon, but not yet.
We see, as if by x-ray vision, the water stored inside alongside the tightly wrapped daffodil bloom.
By what command do they emerge? Who says? When?
One morning–we cannot know when–the bright yellow flower will burst forth. They mystery of it (the not knowing when) keeps us watching. Just like the Northern Cardinal eggs; just like the strawberries; just like the loose tooth and the bagel bird feeder; just like the hibernating turtle; just like every growing thing we watch and wait for.
The mystery allows us the grand privilege of hope. It grows and blooms in our hearts with every new spring day.
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What growing thing are you watching these days?
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This is lovely. We took to the garden today while Sam played in his water bucket. Underneath all the detritis, red buds were creeping toward the surface and it does feel like a gift every time we see them. We walk around the house daily to see what spring has given us.
The privilege of hope. I love that phrase and am claiming it for today! Thanks. g