Notice, I tell myself, scared and still a bit broken
How even the most fragile of the flowers
Break through the surface.
Vulnerable to the whipping wind,
Yet insistent on making their appearance
Because it is their time.
Trusting, as they do, that Spring will eventually come
And the light will sustain them.
It is amazing, isn’t it, how even the smallest of shoots
Will grow into spectacular somethings
Without giving pause for questions or doubt
Simply because it is in their nature to do so.