You must believe in spring

0141_you must believe in spring

When angry voices drown
the music of the spheres,
and children face a world
that’s far beyond their years,

above the darkest sky
the full horizons lie
with all the reasons
why you must believe in spring.

You must believe in love
and trust it’s on its way,
just as the sleeping rose
awaits the kiss of May.

So, in a world of snow,
of things that come and go,
where what you think you know
you can’t be certain of,
you must believe in spring,
and love.

From You Must Believe in Spring, by Jacques Demy and Michel Legrand

crystalline magic


0135_crystalline magic1

The frothy-petaled astilbe that graced last summer’s garden is fast asleep now beneath a feather-quilt of snow; each slumbering seed head nods and dreams beneath a starry diadem.

I prick my ears to the hush of winter woods, a profound stillness disturbed only by the occasional sough of wind in the pines. I absorb the sacredness of blue light across these silent hills, where the soft-edged shadows of trees are brushstrokes of palest cornflower blue.

0135_crystalline magic2

Winter’s intricate mysteries stir my curiosity. I wonder, how many thousands of individual flakes plait together to form a single skein of snow?

A shy sun begins to peek through a veil of pearly cloud, and all at once, I’m embraced by the miracle of snow-light. All around me, the tiny surfaces of snowflakes flare with filaments of sun until the whole world sparkles like a penny Valentine. I dare not breathe and break the spell. Bedazzled, I watch as winter works its crystalline magic.

0135_crystalline magic3

Leaning closer, I stoop to photograph a wand of astilbe with its snowy crown and happen to capture the delicate form of a single snowflake – one fragile star that fell from the skies to find its place here in my sleeping garden. Its tiny perfection bears witness to the infinite artistry of creation, to the unique and unrepeatable preciousness of the soul.

Here in a cathedral of twinkling snow, I look around in reverential silence and whisper thanks for this day, for this moment, for the wondrous, fleeting glory of this life.