Every morning when I go downstairs to begin the day, a new item awaits my attention. The seedlings we planted have all sprouted their first leaves and wait for their turn to be watered. I pour milk for the girls, lemon water for myself. I move down an assembly line of little heads, tying ponytails, weaving braids. Then, before I start making breakfast, I fill the measuring cup to water the plants. Almost every morning, I pause. I consider these plants. I think back to the tiny seeds we planted mere days ago, and marvel at what they have become. Magic.
Not magic, I know. The seed cycle. Abby learned about it in kindergarten. But what happens between the part when the seed is planted, the soil is watered, and the first sprout appears above the surface? What mystery is happening that our eyes are not privileged to witness? The same thing happening in the blue eggs up in the nest down the street. The same thing happening in the cow's belly as she prepares to calve. Life is starting all around us, behind the curtains, and whatever magic happens there, we can only imagine.
|Doesn't this look like a guy with his hands up?|
Whatever you call it, that creative force, there's no denying its abundance in spring. Having lain dormant through winter, or dry spells, or other stagnation, the inherent creation of new life, new ideas, new projects is palpable all around us. Advertisers try to capitalize on this energy with sales on DIY supplies for home improvement projects. Workplaces begin to ask employees to identify summer leave plans, and travel ideas take root in our minds. At the same time of year we dust cobwebs from around our front door frames, we clean our own stale detritus, at least those of us who answer the call to create.