by Debra Bluth
On the brink of the spring equinox in the Northeast, we’re hovering at a thaw. It’s cold, there’s still lots of snow, the ground is hard. It’s not easy to imagine the roots of the plants under there, gathering energy in the darkness in order to push their way through to the light, but they’re there. They know what to do and they do it, unfailingly, every Spring. Soon enough, we’ll see the green world peeking through, exquisitely ordinary and miraculous all at once.
On the brink of the spring equinox in the Northeast, we’re hovering at a thaw. It’s cold, there’s still lots of snow, the ground is hard. It’s not easy to imagine the roots of the plants under there, gathering energy in the darkness in order to push their way through to the light, but they’re there. They know what to do and they do it, unfailingly, every Spring. Soon enough, we’ll see the green world peeking through, exquisitely ordinary and miraculous all at once.
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