Signs of Spring
Bursting out of the still cold ground dressed brightly and cloaked in purple, white, and yellow they stood defiantly and elegant. A splash of color amongst brown, dead leaves and grass and the remnants of snow banks. Their faces open to the March sunshine. They were fairy cups, delicate and round, small and dainty. Crocuses are the promise of spring. They open up their blossoms even before the snow is completely melted, before winter fully recedes. Under my grandmother’s kitchen window, a tiny community of the early bloomers thrives. Petals are soft lavender fading into white. The stems a bright green contrast to the brown around it. Surrounded by petals the pistil and stamen are long, bright yellow. Crocuses are delightful little flowers, filling me with joy, now spring has begun to make an appearance and their splash of color lifts my heart. I marvel that something so delicate could exist in the uncertainty between the harshness of winter reluctant to loosen its grasp and the warm breath of spring thawing the earth.
Lying in the grass on my stomach, I tried to think of something to write. Suddenly I became distracted by a tiny spider, smaller than a cookie crumb, busy in the grass. I stared at it for a while, watching. It was small, bright red with a dark red abdomen. A dancing flame on a candle, he flickered from blades of grass. Crawling across a thin, invisible rope like an acrobat, just as graceful with his eight legs, from one blade of grass to the next. Occasionally propelling from a blade to the ground, like a rock climber down a cliff face. Springing back again like a yo-yo does with a jerk of the controlling hand. As I looked more carefully, wispy spider webs crisscrossed the grass, drawing an abstract with silk thread. I turned my face back to the spider, he vanished. So, I lifted myself up off my stomach and stood up.