Waiting for spring . . .

It's raining, it's pouring.  What a grey, grey, day.   I am fighting the melancholy this morning.   There are no birds chirping, but my kids are chattering at each other.  Occupied with crafts, finishing breakfast, watching a recorded episode of Survivor, my son cheering gleefully for the “boys team.”

Thinking about spring.  Looking at the calendar for what's to come.   Looking forward to some of it and not so much to other things.

Looking at the bare trees and my soggy, soggy yard.  Little patches of garden and flower beds that need some serious attention.  There are bulbs under there.  They are going to come up.  They're reliable that way, and persistent too.  They hang out in the cold, dark, frozen dirt all winter long.  The days start to get longer and the dirt starts to get warmer and those hidden bulbs start pushing their energy into those beautiful green shoots that will appear when the sun starts to shine it's face on my yard.  The bare branches of the trees will start showing their green little buds.  A renewal of sorts.  Signs that life continues on.  The cycles keep going.

Kind of like our own lives.  Death and birth, growing and changing and adapting.  Moving forward, maybe in different directions, but still moving forward.  Sometimes halting or being delayed because we get stuck or stumble on something, but still trying to go forward.  Taking that next step.

I am grateful.  Grateful that spring is coming.  Grateful that all that will come with it is going to be part of my walk.   Keeping watch and waiting for those first little shoots, the crocuses and then the daffodils, tulips, peonies, and pansies. 

Spring is coming.