06 April 2009
As simple as a crocus
It started with one flake, and then the snow returned, covering the ground as if it were January instead of April. But there peeking up out of the snow, the crocus remained, the purple hue as vibrant as the day before only closed waiting for the sun to return to coax it's center to open wide again. The crocus does not exist if not for winter.
I say that over again over again so as not to forget the gifts that winter brings. Because without it, the crocus would not bloom. Though sometimes in the midst of winter it is hard to remember the crocus.
Yesterday I stood for eight hours in the sun outside of a store that I detest, selling Girl Scout cookies with my daughter so that she could reach her very ambitious goal of selling 1,000 boxes of cookies. We left in the eighth hour having finally sold 1,022 boxes of cookies over a very intense 2 1/2 week period of time.
Let me go back though to the beginning of the sentence "Yesterday I stood for eight hours in the sun outside of a store that I destest..." I could have stood eight more hours because the sun was shining and for half of the day it was in my face and half of the day it was at my back. It was truly the best drug I've ever had. I think I could have stood outside like that forever. I was so grateful to have the sun beating down on us. It has felt like so many weeks and months of cold, of rain, of snow, of clouds.
Even standing in front of a store I detest did not affect my mood. There was very little to alter the happiness I felt at the simplicity of standing in the sun. And with my daughter, my eight-year-old who was so focused on selling cookies that she must have said, "Would you like to buy some girl scout cookies?" at least 3,000 times in the last two weeks.
The crocuses have blossomed. Their short life is nearly over, but the memory of their vibrancy, of their color will remain with me long after they are gone.
Grace blossomed for all of eight months in my belly. Yet she remains vibrant, unforgettable in my heart, in my mind, and in our lives. The season of winter is over. I know, though, that there are many winters yet to come. For now, I bask in the glory of spring, in the promise of Easter, in the hope that when spring becomes summer becomes fall becomes winter, that there I will find Grace again knowing that as the snow covers the ground, just underneath it's blanket, the bulb of the crocus lies in wait.