This morning I witnessed a tipping point. I sit every morning in my little patch of winter sun, on the edge of the porch, my feet on the stone that serves as a step. It doesn't really matter how cold it is, I get so tired of the woodstove fire and I'm not really an inside sort of person. I watch, taking in the changes brought in by the new day and the Daffodils are one of my first sightings.
Do you know how the Daffodils, those bright brave heralds of Spring, unfurl right on the edge of the right time? It is such good timing for me, so weary with winter and longing for warmth and such ill advised timing for them. And do you also know how they bend to kiss the ground when they are hit with the inevitable return to winter? And how somehow during the day they come upright again?
A pure miracle.
Today as I took a sip of coffee, one popped upright and stood vibrating for a long moment. A few minutes later another, and then another. They sing when they lift their heads from the ground, I swear they do.
And of course, I thought of Rumi and then myself. If I could be so brave in my fragile body, trusting in whatever magic, or grace, there is. Wouldn't I bow and kiss the ground and then vibrate and sing when I lifted my head once again?
“Today I wake up empty and frightened. Don’t go to the door of the study and read a book. Instead, take down the dulcimer, let the beauty of what you love be what you do. There are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground, there are a thousand ways to go home again.” – Rumi