After being out of town for the weekend, I took the dog for a walk this morning, and it appeared that the whole neighborhood had turned green while I was gone.
All those trees that were nothing but stark branches a few weeks ago, and then covered with buds or blossoms in various shades of brown and red, have suddenly become flush with life in every shade from lime to emerald. In the morning mist, it was a beautiful sight.
Spring is like that. You know it is coming. It happens every year. And yet, when the tulips emerge from hiding and the azaleas explode with color and the trees wrap themselves in verdant green, it still feels like a miracle.
And, I suppose it is.
If life of all sorts is not a miracle, I don’t know what to call it — other than a gift of God.