Snowdrops and Spring Spirits

Last spring I was in low spirits.

I woke up on March morning after a mocking dream, reminding me of all I had lost in a past I couldn’t change. I was shaken by the nightmare, as I hadn’t had a dream about that particular subject in years. It wasn’t until I was pouring my morning coffee and looked at the date that I realized it was the anniversary of my best-friend’s death. That moment was the beginning of an emotional spiral that lasted for a full month.

I lost another friend to that spring spiral.

The people I love always leave me in the spring. Some to death, some to life, and some simply faded away. The relationships melted with the winter snow, but the memories remain everegreen. The friend I couldn’t save, the lover I couldn’t heal, the soulmate who wasn’t meant to be, and the partner who pulled away, they all became the spirits who haunt my spring.

Spring is the season of renewal.

Summer is the season of growth, Autumn is the season of abundant harvest, winter is the season of rest, and spring is the season to start again. Every year in the higher latitudes, this is the rhythm of life. The biting winds of winter are replaced with the nourishing light of the sun, birds return to build their nests and frozen riverbeds begin to flow once more. Peeks of green begin to poke their way through the frozen soil, an good omen of growth for the new year.

Snowdrops often the first sign winter’s end.

After months without warmth or light, it’s easy to feel as if the sun will never return. But then, the snowdrop pushes it’s way through the ice and snow. These small, resilient flowers are the first to bloom after a long period of dormancy. Blooming despite the snow that surrounds them, they are the harolders of the returning sun. Their blossoms bring hope and the promise of new beginnings, even after the coldest of winters. They remind us that life continues on.

I appease my spring spirits with snowdrops.

Every year I come out of winter with my heart filled with ice. My soul is as bare as the tree outside my window, and my mind is as foggy and gray as the February sky. That’s when my ghosts begin to manifest, attacking me at my weakest, and threatening a perpetual winter. Just when I start to give in to their demands , I see snowdrops in the garden pushing their way toward the sun. I gently stroke their waxy petals, relishing in their vibrant green stems, and my spring spirits are silenced.

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