Promises

On Spring

The dawn is not a hope, it’s a promise.

The words find their way to me on scrap of pink paper, folded over with a hand-drawn sun rising beside a hillside. A letter from my husband, delivered in a recent moment when balance felt elusive.

The morning finds us stronger and our roots are set deeper. What challenges us only shows us how deep our roots run… What we plant now will rise.

On the morning of Vernal Equinox I stand in front of that same conical hill, watching the sun’s steady ascension, thinking about what’s rooted and what’s beginning to rise. What to nurture and what to release. It feels like a moment of balance, truly. Dark and light match, harmonising night and day. I’ve been looking for these signposts like a child hunts for Easter eggs.

Just as each day opens and we breathe in, spring invites us to start again. It’s morning now, the balance to winter’s evening. You can see it in the buds abound, and those already burst open into bright yellows and tender pinks. There’s a softness to the sunlight illuminating vitamin D deprived cheeks. Even the sea and its rock pools smell like spring. The gulls cry out — breathe in.