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For today’s “Celebrate” photo, I thought that I might be
able to find a green sprout peeking out of my garden somewhere. I went outside
and peered between the front bushes where the hostas often sprout early in the
spring. I looked around the side of the house where ferns sometimes spring up.
The area in front of the driveway where the bulbs are is still buried underneath
several feet of crusty, sooty ice and snow. The few places where there was
visible soil, there were no sprouts of green grass, no leaves getting ready to
unfurl, no snowdrops about to burst into bloom. There was muddy dirt, and there
was muddy snow. The only glimpse of green I could find was a manky old green
sweatsock that had appeared in a melting snowbank a day or so ago, source
unknown.
It was ugly against ugly, the filthy green against the
filthy white. It certainly didn’t put me in the mind to celebrate. But as I
glared at it in disgust, I realized that despite its ugliness, there was plenty
of beauty around me. It was warm enough that I had come outside wearing a short-sleeved
shirt and no coat. The rays of the sun had a golden quality that tinged the
snowbanks with their glow and cast artistic shadows all over the yard. Dozens
of different kinds of birds were singing happily in the trees. Overhead, a lazy
jet made soft whooshing noises in the sky. Down the street, I could faintly
hear the happy voices of boys playing street hockey. A neighbor walked by with
his dog, softly whistling to her.
It’s not yet time to celebrate the re-awakening of the
earth, the growth of the tiny green things, the rebirth of lawns and gardens.
But it is time to celebrate the coming of spring: looking forward to those awakenings, to
that growth, to the rebirth. There may not be baby birds, but there are eggs.
There may not be sprouts, but there are seeds. There may not be spring, but
there is anticipation. We can anticipate. We can hope. We can celebrate.
Celebrate.
