When I was in the car yesterday with my pet parrot who squawks and babbles constantly (also known as Liv) I saw one of these:
I don't think I've ever cared about daffodils in my whole life. Ever. But for some reason, seeing that daffodil was the perfect visual of how I was feeling. It was warm outside. It was beautiful. I took Liv to the park and she squealed with so much delight at the introduction of the swing that I couldn't stop laughing and neither could all the people watching her. Her complete euphoria and joy at being in the swing made every laugh because it was such as simple thing.
I think the seasons are symbolic of our soul seasons. I think I go through periods where I feel winter inside. Blah and gray, cold and icy and grumpy with shortened light periods and frozen windshield perspective. I love when I feel summer inside, summer means happiness, carefree, eating green otter pops, warm nights and loving every second of smelling freshly cut grass with the windows rolled down driving. I think the definition of physical spring is oh so appropriate for how I feel when I have spring in my soul. According to our dear friend, Wikipedia describes spring as:
"One of the four temperate seasons, the transition period between winter and summer. Spring and "springtime" refer to the season, and broadly to ideas of rebirth, renewal and regrowth. The specific definition of the exact timing of "spring" varies according to local climate, cultures and customs."
My current climate, culture and customs inside myself are feeling so much hope and renewal. It has been a long winter both outside and inside my soul and I am ready for spring. I am so grateful for soul seasons.
It is blowing my mind how slow life seems to pass when you are in the middle of a winter. Time is going so fast. Too fast. I loved this thought:
I just realized after coming out of a "winter" season in myself how much better it feels to be filled with hope. I want to go back and redo and restart and enjoy the days where I just felt like I was waiting for the day to be over. The seasons are made of days and days are made of moments. It's made me soak up the moments like a lizard sitting on a rock in St. George. I felt like I went to Kroger with a whole new appreciation for the people that spent the entire afternoon chatting away like we had been friends since the sandbox. It's made me want to lay on the floor extra long reading "Fuzzy Bee" and eating banana puffs with this blue eyed mini Gar 23 pound creature of joy:
I'm so thankful for spring. I love daffodils. I love sun and hope and transition. I hope you are seeing daffodils and spring outside and more importantly, feeling some spring inside your guts. Every season has things to be learned and while I can never go back and re-season, I can say:
I love change. Ironically, The daffodils official real name is narcissus. Supposedly the story is that of the youth of Greek mythology called Narcissus, who, in at least one of many variations of the tale, became so obsessed with his own reflection as he kneeled and gazed into a pool of water that he fell into the water and drowned.The Narcissus plant first sprang from where he died. Tragic. Not really the story behind the happy yellow trumpeter of spring flower I was expecting.
Forget the conceited Greeky story. The point is the same, when I get "winterized inside" and feel frozen by the white witch with discouragement or self pity, and focus all about Chel world I am miserable. The Greek youth mytholocial being is not real, but I know that it's true. When I forget about all I want to complain about, there is springtime and hope and so much more room for joy. Bienvendios Spring!