Today marks the first day of spring, but it’s a cold, dreary, unreasonable welcome to the season. There are hints that flakes will fall from the sky tomorrow, but my flowers have already survived one winter storm. We pray that said flakes will gently kiss the saturations of yellow and purples as a final farewell kiss.
As much as I love the snow, I am ready for it to move along. To sleep until the next season beckons its call. Now is the time for new growth, literally and figuratively, and for things that are green colorful.
Speaking of spring, I realize that next season, I will be showing my son each new bloom, letting his little fingers touch the petals and smell their perfumes. We’ll whisper to the snakes and bees and I will tell him which of the flowers are Mama’s favorites and why.
I know he will not remember these things, but sometimes it’s the memories that aren’t that are most precious.