Spring

The grass in the field at the end of the road is growing lusciously long (for London) , with the promise of dandelion clocks and other treasures. Round the corner there's a swan on a nest, and things are blooming everywhere.

This year my heart hasn't leapt with the coming of spring as much as it normally does. I usually delight in the warmth, the colour, the promise. This time, though, the promise has seemed a little hollow. Because instead of looking forward to sunny picnics and summer holidays, I am thinking about hospital - about surgery for my girl, and all that brings. My usual planning of lovely things has to go on hold.

Was it C.S. Lewis who talked about 'disordered loves'? Probably. Well, I think my hopes are disordered too. My hope of a happy meandering spring and summer was always fairly flimsy. But that doesn't mean that the promise of spring is false. It means I'm not dreaming deep enough.

The beauty inherent in this broken world speaks of the lost Garden, which will one day be restored. It's a hope that is deep and strong and sure, and which cannot be derailed by a change in circumstances.

I was going to quote the beautiful words of this lady, but actually, you know what? Just go and read it. You won't regret it.
http://www.thoroughlyalive.com/2017/03/beauty-believe-it/

She also led me to this poem from, once again, C.S. Lewis.

I heard in Addison’s Walk a bird sing clear:
This year the summer will come true. This year. This year.

Winds will not strip the blossom from the apple trees
This year, nor want of rain destroy the peas.

This year time’s nature will no more defeat you,
Nor all the promised moments in their passing cheat you.

This time they will not lead you round and back
To Autumn, one year older, by the well-worn track.

This year, this year, as all these flowers foretell,
We shall escape the circle and undo the spell.

Often deceived, yet open once again your heart,
Quick, quick, quick, quick!—the gates are drawn apart.