March
The garden is animated with an uprising, in glory they trumpet announcements of Spring. Pathways are illuminated with a fanfare of fulfilment, scattered gold grants a promise of abundance. Spring is here.
The air carries the last of the winter chill and in its draft a defiant dance. Expectation circles in the spaces possessed with pigmented hope, anointed by light, crowned in their victory, the darkness retreats.
I look the sun, straight in the face as I sit south facing and close my eyes to inhale the first fragrance, to return to a simpler time where infant hands reach for beauty and, without want, give it away - First acts. First Loves. First Spring.
Energy is rising, the buzz of the first bees spirals as though casting spells on the ground to conjure life. Our garden yields the first in the village, a local legend and the sign this was home, a place I’ve never felt more gratitude for as the wider world seems at odds with itself. I gather them along with my thoughts to lift spirits and bring sunshine within.
Appearing to nod in agreement as they gesture reassurance in the March breeze,
Daffodils:
Dignified in stance; grounded in together; stemmed in resilience; structured in strength; saturated in source; amplified in the masses;
hope