Yesterday went by in a bit of a blur. I lay down with the thought I hadn’t written yet. So far I’ve been able to get up and correct that, sometimes by waking up as is customary at some small hour of the night. But that didn’t happen.
Rather than beat myself over my failure to keep my daily run going, I figured I’d make up for it tomorrow by writing two. So here I am.
I did take this picture yesterday evening, however, as the icy blue twilight stole over the fresh snow. It amazes me how the fallen snow really does have facets – tiny jewels glimmering at random intervals over the snow. You’d almost expect the Queen of Narnia to appear.
The garden is sleeping under the snow, but I know that regardless of the cold (a chill compared to our prairie neighbours) the spring will bring bulbs flowering and the knowledge as Dickon (in the Secret Garden) once confided, that all was “wick” within: green and full of life beneath the dry shell the garden presents to the world.
That’s how it is for people too. Not necessarily in the spring, as I’ve already intimated. The sun is not my friend, unless we are talking about the distant star of my winter dreaming. The analogy holds up the same though. One day some people wake up, discard the husks of their old self, and show the world what lay hidden beneath. And like Mistress Mary of the book, some people can hardly believe that its possible, until one day we find ourselves dancing and singing and smiling, as if that other self was but a distant acquaintance.
Like the snowdrops and tulips under the snow, so too, I wait, all the time growing and waiting for my opportunity to return to life again.