A few years ago, we bought our first house and I began a flower garden.  Quickly I realized the valued of perennials – flowers/plants that come back year after year.  Perennials are like newborns each year – full of hope and promise for the coming warm weather.

 The Hostas and Ferns appear as small babies right now, just budding.  I check on them twice a day to see how much they have grown and revival in there sprouts and unfolding leaves as I feel myself also awakening from winter’s long slumber.  And the bulbs – I planted English Bluebells last fall and can’t wait to see how they do…

 Why do I love these plants so? – because they remind of possibilities and unseen forces.  Much of what happens in life is about timing, waiting and trust. 

 The Hostas and Ferns sprout when the earth is warming up from snowy days gone by.  They may even have to survive another storm or two before they can be assured of warmer days.  And that is the other part of their magic – the perennials weather the storms.  Their tender shoots somehow manage and thrive under a sudden blanket of seven inches of snow - only to melt away on the morrow.  These seemingly vulnerable newborns are not.

 They are in fact hardy and resourceful – if leaves die, they grow more.  They are not deterred when bad weather comes their way, just steady.  They will be here after the storm, spouting new growth and trusting in warmer days…

Today, February 1st, is the first day of Imbolc, the Feast of Brigit, pagan Goddess and Christian Saint.  I like Brigit.  She’s a Goddess of action and focus.   The fiery goddess of inner strength and will.  A redhead after my own heart.

Imbolc is the first day of Spring in the Celtic Calendar, February 1st.   I look out my window and I see snowflakes falling, one after another, tumbling down.  The ground has been hidden by two feet of hard, half-melted snow for five weeks now.

I haven’t seen a bird at my feeders for two whole days.  They are hiding too.  Deep, within the branches of the pine trees.  Trees that poke and prick at us is where they find refuge—these are their warm places.

A week or so ago, I was with a friend and we were discussing his garden.  He couldn’t wait to show me this big vegetable he had just picked.  Mind you, this was January 18th and there had been snow on the ground for weeks along with frighteningly cold temperatures.  I just nodded my head and smiled at this crazy comment.

Off to the fridge he ran and returned with a grin from ear to ear  holding this massive, gorgeous purple turnip.  This had been growing in his garden since last Spring.  Underneath the snow, this had been growing still.  Thriving in fact.

I could not ignore the message.  The reminder that sometimes we can’t see the change.  The shifting beneath the surface.  We see the snow on top.  Still there, not melting completely.

Looking at that turnip, I felt a leap of excitement.  I heard in my mind one of my favorite quotes by Kahlil Gibran, “In every Winter’s Heart there is a Quivering Spring…”

Maybe I couldn’t see Springtime out my window between the falling snowflakes, but I know it is there.  Quivering and thriving beneath the snow on Brigit’s day, Springtime is borning.