New Englanders know that Spring time is the most ethereal of seasons, arriving overnight with summertime temperatures, a diminishing pile of dirty snow, a long list of chores- indoors and out, and that which springs eternal.
The hopeful things can be small and you need to pay attention. Visiting my mother yesterday, it was hard not to focus on her decline and feel hopelessness vs. hope (on my part, not hers). Even while feeling sorry (for myself, not her) I could still be moved by a walk in her yard and the discovery of crocuses and mayflowers. A cliché symbol of rebirth for sure, but moving nonetheless.
Brian and I have been eagerly watching for one subtle sign: the increasing morning light on our early commute to our babysitting gig. This morning, clouds and trees were outlined against the navy sky and by the time we reached our destination, the pink glow in the east announced a sunny day.
The world literally turns and each new day there is a noticeable (Notice it!) increase in birdsong, in budding leaves and the sighting of an ant in my bathroom. If I notice these subtle changes, they whisper Spring to me.
Each time I see her, I can notice Logan noticing the world and see that she, too, is changing. New tricks either trained (Where’s your head? Where’s your belly?) or instinctual (climbing, imitating sounds). Through her eyes, a stroller walk in the neighborhood is filled with curiosities – a barking dog, wind blowing the yet unraked leaves, a teenager prematurely in shorts bopping to her headphones – Lo notices it all.
I dream of a future springtime where I can show her the budding flowers, as my grandmother showed me. And as my mother, though she no longer remembers the names of the flowers, showed my children. The world turns. Each day can bring sadness, but also hope. And our brief New England Spring allows us, if we are willing, to focus on the noticing. And, if you look closely enough, you will notice nothing but the tiny miracles.