Last Tuesday I stepped out my back door and was surprized to see a whole clump of early crocus had sprung overnight. All this week they have danced through a rhythm of opening and closing. Early mornings they are like furled umbrellas, pale outer petals nearly hiding the darker inner petals. Then with a bit of light and warmer temperatures they open and lift amber pistils and stamens to the sun. By evening they are folded up again for the night, re-opening in the morning. And after the rain all day today, they are drenched and pathetic, about to slip away and leave the stage free for the next spring performers.
"Instructions for living a life:
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"
I've taken on a prayer practice of looking for the moments of light in each day, whether actual or metaphorical, and then writing or posting photos of what I find.