Inexorable

Last month, Luke and I stayed in downtown Seattle for a few days. He attended a conference, and I was gifted with much-needed time to walk around, explore, and not be productive. In the evenings, Luke and I would find a fun restaurant, then walk around Seattle a bit before heading back to our hotel for an early bedtime (we were a tired couple).

Our final night in Seattle found us strolling across a plaza landscaped with Japanese maples. Their leaves had just begun to open, and every tree was covered with a gauze of spring green. And I felt something happen inside of me.

Over the last few days, I had discovered numerous gardens during my rambles through Seattle. I gloried in trees covered with white and pink blossoms, I bent down to make acquaintance with countless varieties of spring flowers, and my heart leapt up at the explosion of color and newness that signaled spring. But when I looked up at the maple branches becoming alive and full again, I felt more than just delight.

Our own Japanese maple (in our backyard)

Often, I don't understand how hungry I've been until I finally eat a good meal. Then my whole body begins to relax, my muscles unwind, a warmth floods through me, and I recognize my previous tenseness. Or a medical test comes back as normal, and I realize, with a flood of relief, how much my anxiety about the results had permeated all of my life and thoughts throughout the time I was waiting.

That's what happened to me as I gazed at the Japanese maples in that concrete plaza. My soul untensed, opened up, and released a deep sigh of relief. I didn't realize how much I had longed for the greenness and fullness of leaves on trees until I saw them again. This happens every spring, but then in the winter, I forget. (Perhaps this is part of why living in the desert was so hard for me.)

Spring is late in the Seattle area this year. We smashed records with our wettest and darkest winter ever. Not only did we record the most rain ever between October and April, but also the greatest amount of days with rain. Temperatures continue well below normal, and we've only topped 60 degrees a couple times this year.

But the extra-cold temperatures and the clouds' refusal to allow the sun to shine more than a couple hours at a time haven't stopped spring from coming. It is inexorably pushing through. It's spread from Seattle to our neck of the woods, to our yard, to our trees. Everywhere I look, I am enfolded in waves upon waves of fresh green, and my soul is almost overwhelmed trying to take it all in. Spring wins.

For some reason, the triumph of spring in the face of our ridiculous weather delights me deeply. Spring does not give in to the discouragement of yet another cold, gloomy day. It quietly pushes through with its magic, and our world is transformed.