I was standing at my kitchen window when I saw them, a spot of bright in a world of dead grass and gray sticks. They poked out from the grass that I failed to clear last fall, determined to be themselves despite their surroundings. Crocus are hope embodied. They are the first flowers each spring and I rejoice when I see them because, even if it is still cold, even if the sky is still gray, even if it snows, I know that winter is going away.
Seeing these small beauties was a gift today. Yesterday was flow, I was carried through things which could have shipwrecked me. Today I am not carried. I walk on my own feet, sorting, working, trudging my way forward. I am doing one necessary task at a time because I am too tired to hold more than one thing in my brain. Remarkably, I have not spent today rethinking all of yesterday’s decisions. Either I’m confident that I chose right or I’m too tired to fret. It doesn’t matter. There are crocuses blooming in my garden and we’re on the edge of things getting better.