Every year I forget we have this single crocus corm, and every year it takes me by pleasant surprise as it comes into bloom, that is when I’m lucky enough to capture it before the lingering winter weather turns it to mush or some greedy chipmunk plucks it in its pretty prime. This year it managed to find a pocket of sun and warmth (before the latest shower of snow and cold weather) in which to bloom, and fate had me walking in the side yard to spot its glorious color amid a landscape of browns and grays.
For all its whimsical magic, the way it takes me by surprise every year, there is also something comforting and reassuring about the notion of tradition and repetition. In a world that feels less stable by the day, nature reminds that she will not be swayed or rushed or nudged or defied. Whenever I get bogged down by the mess that we humans are making of things, I return to nature and the lessons she has always taught us when we care enough to stop and listen.
