Budding Late

On a bleak and overcast morning, a single late tulip bud raises its head in a forgotten corner of the garden, and the quiet shape reminds me of hands held together in a gassho.

From the hint of color along the upper verges, the bud will unfold to a vibrant red in its own good time, but the progress to blooming is a slow one.  Nights are still cold here, and the furnace hums along during the hours of darkness.  Against the predawn purring of the heating apparatus comes the sound of flocks of Canada geese flying joyously between the wildly torrenting river and nearby farm fields.  The geese are delighted to be back, and we are happy to hear them winging their way overhead.

These are early days to be sure, but spring lasts only a few days in the north, and it will not be long until the herons and loons return - we listen for them passing overhead and watch shorelines for their appearance. From winter to high summer we will go swiftly, and our turning will have all the speed and effortless grace of an aikido move flawlessly executed.

For all my longing for blue skies, sunlight and riotous flowering, there is something in this gentle oasis of green which feeds the spirit. It's all good.