It's a beautiful warm day here in southern New England. Spring is not here yet, but it is on the horizon. We can feel it through the bitter pinches of winter's last grasps. There are signs... Robin and pussywillow sightings have been reported via social networking. I am tempted to open all the storm windows, but 45 years have taught me that we could be buried in snow this time next week.
Still... it is coming. We believe it because it's come so many times before. And we look forward to it because the dormancy of winter has made us ready for the blooming of springtime. The too many rains will threaten to wash away our excitement. But they won't win. The few days that serve as portals of sunshine and warmth will refill our hope until even we are in bloom. And that is the real magic of springtime. Surely the old standbys will return; first the forsythias, then the tulips and other bulbs, followed by the budding maples and oaks, until we are again shaded by their lucious canopy. But then there are the surprises... the daisies growing by the back porch steps, where none had been planted. And the miraculous petunias that peek out of windowboxes where they were left to wither last fall.
Life mimics the seasons, and there are so many lessons to learn. May we all treasure the new growth within and without. And may we accept the unexpected, not as strangling weeds, but as gifts; some beautiful; some challenging, but all helping us to grow into who we were created to be.