A New Season

I was not always a spring enthusiast. I awaited the snows of winter. I embraced the crisp autumn air and the rustling of fallen leaves. However, after years of being ill, I suddenly began eagerly awaiting spring’s arrival.

The grey death of winter suddenly erased clean by the emergence of spring color invigorates me. Barren brown trees, stripped of color, erupt with white blossoms and green buds. Skies, void of azure blue and fluffy white clouds, become bright and sun-filled. And yards, brown and dull without green blades of grass, become an emerald sea of new growth.

My daffodils trumpet the arrival of spring. Early, in their emergence from the still chilly soil, the yellow and white petals signal that better days lie ahead. Tiny, yellow forsythia buds promise to clothe the bleak branches of the forsythia bushes. And the shrill whistles of the blue jay and the robin awoke me last week.

With the exception of going to doctors’ appointments or treatments, I have not left our home since a few days after Christmas. Each year, flu season forces this quarantine. I long for a trip to the grocery store or to sit down for dinner in a restaurant, after over three months of doing none of these normal, life events.

I cannot tell you the depth of what the blossoming daffodil means to me this year. It signals new life – a new life that I seek for my broken body. Resurrected from the death of winter’s soil, the daffodil is fresh, vibrant, and full of life. I seek that same resurrection of my fleshly body and a new life season of health and vitality.