It is something to rejoice over when spring fairies come back to life again. When my friends write about the signs of spring in the air, in their gardens, in the woodlands, it’s hard not to be sweetened to hopefulness.
This year, one particular flower seemed to be in many places before me – the daffodil.
On a whim, I decided to look up the symbolism of daffodils. What I read smote my heart gently yet strongly.
Daffodils symbolized rebirth and new beginnings.
Some believed that daffodils bloomed when Christ rose from His tomb.
Today was to be a busy work day, not necessarily one I looked forward to. I had very little sleep the night before and the morning at home was a wee bit busy. Yet, later, working alongside my colleagues, I was strangely unaffected by their raucous revelry. Slowly, I chipped away at my work and by the end of the day, everything that had to be done, got done.
But those little accomplishments didn’t swell big for me. I was aware of something else slowly tree-ing within me from afternoon: a mysterious hopefulness. It lifted and lifted, bit by bit, as the bright gold afternoon winds swept higher and higher in some unseen joy.
Shiny, new hope. Hope that is gentle, yet strong. Something that wasn’t there before.