Hope Springs Eternal

A green mist hangs over the land, creeping its way northward across the fields and meadows. A white fog envelopes the mist and disguises it as a brief snowstorm of falling flakes. Bright spots of sunshine filter through the mist and fog sharing their secret: Spring is here! The grasses have begun their green march across the yard and goat field. Soon I will have to check the mower's oil and gas levels. The white flowers of Bradford pear trees have fallen from their lofty heights to be replaced by tiny, brilliant green leaves. Dogwoods' white crosses glisten against the newly leafed trees. Daffodils and forsythia glow with their yellow flower heads, and camellias and azaleas liven it all up with their own multi-colored displays. Like scars left from a bike wreck, some bare branched trees remain to remind me that Winter's dreariness and ruthlessness are very real. Not every day is filled with ease and content. Distress and regret are enemies not quickly forgotten, but draped in warmer, more colorful clothing they change their faces. Hope is present in my garden, in the growth of my boys, in the evening chorus of the spring peepers. Better days are coming, not quite fulfilled in earnest yet, but soon. Very soon.