it’s happening again
There are days I doubted it would. I was convinced this past winter was too hard and the storms too violent. There was a stretch of about a month when it rained everyday, with spans of record-breaking torrential pours, and I worried our garden would wash away (some of it did). But yesterday out in our little orchard I was delightfully stunned - the fruit trees are budding! Peach, plum, nectarine and apple trees have all sprouted tightly bound promises. The pink camellias have rushed to take the stage first, and the daffodils and narcissus both insist that “seasonal affective disorder” is a big pharma conspiracy to sell more anti-depressants.
But in all seriousness, this is the trepidatious dance many of us experience when we pass through the “winter” of our journey. We fall apart, we break, we experience crisis or suffer great loss and we are convinced that we’ll never bounce back, that we’ll never “bloom” again as we once had before.
And then, seemingly against all odds (or the poor odds our fearful mind calculates), our “spring” returns. I am reminded here of the image of purple crocus flowers puncturing through late winter snow. After enduring our dark night we wake up lighter, we notice more vibrancy within, we find a smile easier to ease into, we have more spaciousness to meet our experiences. The light returns (it always does) and we thaw out, readying ourselves to spend the next season soaking in the sun.
This is not to make light of one’s devastating “night” or to suggest that spring erases the scars of winter. These past couple of winters ravaged my land, breaking many fruit-bearing branches, downing countless trees, displacing so much soil. Our garden is battered… but it is budding regardless. And it’s budding-despite-the-hardship is what makes it so much more breath-taking to witness.
I know one thing - the first peach I harvest this summer will be one of the tastiest fuzzy peaches I will have ever eaten. The anticipation of that first bite is palpable. And after last year’s late frost that decimated our cherry blossoms, I’m going to savor every single cherry we pick, even if it’s just one.
Friends, lean in to the dark and necessary winter of your journey. But don’t overstay your welcome there. When it comes to its completion, follow nature’s momentum and embrace the inevitable spring.
What changes or dreams of yours are budding and on their way to full bloom?
Every winter ends.
every. single. one.
Every night ends with the dawn.
It’s the longest night that yields, in time, to the bright, joyous day.
Awakening doesn’t happen without sleepfulness.
It’s the forgetting that makes the remembering so damn euphoric.
Trust your winters.
Let them be, without protest.
And when your winter comes to its completion,
do not resist the inevitable spring.