Season of Promise

I have just returned from a week in Vermont, an all-too-short visit with my daughter and some dear friends.

Before I left, my husband asked if I would be taking my camera, and I said, yes, I would take my camera, but I didn't expect to get much in the way of photos -- Vermont, in mud season, is not, to my memory, a very pretty place.

But as I began the drive from the Albany airport to Bennington, I was surprised to discover how incredibly alluring the Vermont browns of spring can be. Living in the Pacific Northwest, I've grown used to year-round greens that just become more vibrant in spring; I had forgotten how much promise there is in a brown just beginning to warm. Everywhere I looked I felt this sense of anticipation, a welling-up of joyful green just below the surface; a determination to bloom and grow, to burst into flower when the moment comes ripe.

Nowhere is this more evident than beside the streams and rivers, bordered with ice and snow with water breaking through in its determined rush. Hearing that sound always in the background, seeing those faint touches of green, smelling the hint of fresh earth on the cold wind, was exhilarating.



It was, for me, a lovely reminder that there is hope; that lives and families and nations can change; that even the deadest garden carries within it the seeds of life. I pray that this will be a season of promise, not just for me and my family and friends, but for all humanity.