As the Earth sustains its axial spinning and tilts North America closer to the sun, temperatures rise and the precipitation falls in the form of rain. The rain coaxes the growth of bulbs to emerge from the soil that has just recently seen the light of day for the first time, after being covered in the blanket of winter for what seems like endless months. The grass rises greener each day, ahead of the tree buds that steadily make their appearance. One day you wake up and the winter stillness is broken with the welcome chirp of cardinals, robins and chickadees.
Most people treat the New Year, January 1, as a time of resolutions and recharge. I do the same, trying to think about at a whole year of my life in the span of a few hours and make sense of the change, hardship and excitement that the year past has brought. I reflect on what I’ve learned, who I’ve met, where I’ve gone, and all of the things I plan to put into effect in the 365 days to come. But spring is different sort of revival.
Just as the hummingbird returns every year, I am reminded that all good things come back around, and there is always a chance to start over.
No matter what has taken place in the years before, there is always a day, usually alerted by my mom, that the hummingbird has taken its first sip from the feeder we have put out in anticipation of it’s arrival. Not only does the hummingbird return, so do the leaves, butterflies, bees, and flowers.
As bears end their hibernation, it seems humans do too, emerging from their homes and feeling the warm wind and golden sun on their previously shrouded skin. Feeling the saturated earth beneath barefeet for the first time feels strange and good every year. There are metaphors of growth across the spectrum of the kingdom of flora and fauna, some creatures grow bigger from the year before, some plants lose their growth from the previous warm months as they enter into winter’s dormancy, then come back in full force when weather warms again. Some creatures’ life cycles only last a year, so they start all over each year. No matter what has preceded or what threatens to come, spring and all its accomplices return, perhaps not unscathed, but not fearful, rather eager to bask in the sun and flourish.
I take notes from the awakening world around me, and I awaken with it. It’s message softly encourages me to come out of stillness and make waves. To let my wings feel the rising warm wind and freely soar. The grass and tulips and daffodils remind me to trust the bloom even though there is still a threat of a late frost. They show no hesitation, only confidence that they will prevail and beautify the landscape from gray brown to vibrant green and bright yellow. The cardinals tell me to whoop and sing with them, to rise with the sun and take full advantage of the life around the world of changing creatures.
Each day is a new day, a new set of minutes to be happier and to bloom brighter. This spring is a chance to reflect and re-grow, along with the plants and animals around us doing the same thing. Every year, no matter what, the hummingbird returns and thrives.