Tulip Bulbs in the Dark

Post-Thanksgiving, tulip bulbs are on sale, 50% off. I buy 50 bulbs, pot them up into 10 flowerpots, and next week do the same thing. My garage has 4 rows of pots sitting on the floor between the car and the truck, waiting for spring equinox when they can come out of hiding.

The tulip bulbs are buried in the darkness of the soil. December 7 is the earliest sunset of the year, at 4:16 p.m. Oh, the night seems long when darkness begins in late afternoon.

It's time for us to gestate, meditate, contemplate the dark. We can't see clearly in the dark, but we can feel. Feel the closeness, the surround, perhaps the coolness. Float in the dark of not-knowing, trusting that eventually the light returns.

Celebrating Spring Equinox

Susan sends a Spring Equinox postcard instead of a Christmas card. This year's postcard includes the poem The Coming of Spring by Francis Duggan.

The spring in gown of green came at midnight
and stole along the parkland in moonlight
and people of suburbia fast asleep
when Spring from tree to garden tree did creep.

The Spring came in at midnight in her green.
A welcome guest though she has not been seen.
In still of night she shuffled down the street,
and no one heard her pass on silent feet.

It's official: Winter is over. Gone. Impermanence rules.
Welcome Spring. You impermanent and changeable creature you.