Beauty Yet to Come
This morning, the sky is gray. Every once in a while, in a fair imitation of an irritable camel, it spits a little. The cold and rain is about as welcome as difficult house guest who wore out her welcome weeks ago.
But I refuse to let the weather dampen my enthusiasm because spring is on its way. Between Monday’s substantial rainfall and Wednesday’s sunshine, the lawn is now more green than brown. I saw crocuses in bloom at McFarland Clinic yesterday. And every day, another tulip or daffodil in my flower bed braves the cold and comes out of hiding.
The magnolia tree beside the house is covered with buds waiting to flower at the slightest provocation. I can hardly wait since it barely bloomed the first spring after planting and an April frost nipped last year’s buds in the bud.
The tree was supposed to be a bush, but it had bigger growth plans and implemented them with great success. Hiram wanted to move the tree away from the house last fall, but I persuaded him to let it bloom this spring before digging it up. The trauma of a move could be deadly, so I want one glorious blooming and lots of pictures in case that happens.
Which means, of course, that I should be pleased with a cold spring which keeps plants from flowering too early and becoming victims of a frosty death. The magnolia is more likely to be what I hope it will be, all because the weather is not what I think it should be. So I am pleased, at least in my more mature, big picture moments which don’t come nearly often enough.
Every gloomy morning provides an opportunity to mature and consider the big picture. So this spring I am maturing at record speed. And in the moments when I see the big picture, I thank God for gray skies and chilly days, and most of all for magnolia buds and for beauty yet to come.
