Yesterday was the first day of spring. I found this lone flower blooming in a pot of greenery by my kitchen window. Isn’t it lovely? Oh, harbinger of new and reawakening life. Oh, beacon of joy. This is the stuff that stirs poets to pen.
Except that this is my Thanksgiving cactus which ordinarily produces its pink-tinged blossoms and white translucent wings in November, and it did not disappoint four months ago when it was awash with blooms. In all the years that I have had it, it has never flowered in spring. Nor has it ever only presented a single bloom.
This morning there was snow. By the afternoon it was gone. Harbinger of doom? Who knows? I do think we should all hang on to our hats; come summer we may be in for a hot, bumpy ride.
On a gloomy afternoon, there’s a knock at my door. I recognize the sharp two-rap code that announces a package from UPS, followed by the soft thud of a box being set on the porch. It’s so cold outside, I don’t even want to open the door. I briefly entertain the idea of waiting until my husband gets home from work when he will see the package sitting outside and bring it in with him. But I’m not expecting a package, and so I decide to brave the shrill rush of arctic air long enough to sate my curiosity.
It was worth it. This is what the package contained: a cheery basket of spring bulbs. Sent by a couple of friends who live somewhere much warmer than Rhode Island. Buds from buds to their bud.
I’m so blessed!
P.S. Curiosity doesn’t always kill the cat.
P.P.S. Thank you to my generous buds for remembering my birthday in such a delightful way!