Posted Monday, February 11th, 2008
Have you ever looked at a crocus emerging from the ground, I mean really look at it, the tip pale and fragile, and yet it pushes its way into the world, it's quite a feat.
In a few days, a stalk grows into unborn blossoms, another day, it opens to stamen, pistil, petals, and all its leaves are pristine perfect in every way. There's a moment, brief, mind you, when nothing can compare to its beauty and I think, "I love this."
Artists paint it, writers write it, thinkers think it but no one can hold on to it forever, and by its nature, it allows us to 'love' it and to never insist on hearing in return, "I love you."
Then it dies.
It returns to the soil, withers and rots and with any luck blooms again next year, but there is no promise.
So why do men and woman, ask each other to surrender their souls, to promise undying love, when the crocus, still deep in the wet soil asks only to reach the sun?
Comments [post a comment]
Posted by Donia Carey on Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 at 4:26 PM
Lovely story, Judy. Good message, too.
Posted by Nonnie Augustine on Tuesday, February 12th, 2008 at 7:07 PM
Well done, Judy. Fresh thoughts on topics, spring and love, tried by so many writers. I'll think about the question you end with. xxoononnie