Right there, at the end of the driveway
Do you see where I am pointing?
Yes, still under the snow, and next to where we put out the garbage can every Thursday morning,
That’s where I buried the daffodil bulbs last fall.
There are some on the other side as well.

That was a day when my wide-open heart felt broken,
And I knew it would just have to stay that way for a while,
And that only patience and time would ease the wound.
And I saw the bulbs had been marked down at the store
Where I had seen them all summer.

So I put them in the basket with the other, less frivolous, things
And brought them home, and looked for a trowel,
And marched to the end of the driveway
(Which was easy to locate, even through tears)
And stabbed out a hole from the hard ground.
A few bulbs went into each hole and were blanketed over with dirt.
Some water from the bottle was eased over the top in baptism
Of the hope that they would grow and bloom after a long winter’s rest.

Now after a few full moons, there are different kinds of birdsong in the air,
And the crisp scent of snow is giving way to the messy scent of mud.
The water in the goat’s bucket is not frozen solid every morning.
I feel my still open and less guarded hands and heart warm in the sun.
The snow is melting back from the sides of the driveway,
Not yet far enough to reveal where the dirt blanket and bottled baptism took place,
But far enough to excite anticipation
That very soon there just may be shoots of green, and then buds, and then blossoms of yellow
Smiling up at the sun and every soul that passes by.

I’m sure to be surprised when they actually appear.
Maybe I’ll see them from the car window on my way home from an errand,
Or coming back from a long walk or the short cut.
And I could just miss them by not paying attention and being lost in other mental worlds
And a neighbor will text me about how beautiful they looked, and I’ll rush outside with no shoes to check.

Something will be there that wasn’t there before,
Something that came from stabbing the earth through tears
And being protected all winter.
Then opening up to growing and nourishing warmth
And acceptance of a new time and space.
Both the blossoming and the anticipation of it bring a beautiful joy.
You’ll see and feel it right there.
~

Author: Mary Jelf
Image: Author’s Own; Flickr
Editor: Lieselle Davidson