The scent of resurrection

I ran across this image yesterday while looking for photos to use in a workshop I'm doing later this week. I'd forgotten I'd taken it, though, seeing it, I know exactly where I was at the time. There's a wonderful park on our island called the Bloedel Reserve, a former family estate that has been preserved for public use, and I was there for a day-long contemplative retreat.

We got lots of breaks for walking around, so I took my camera with me and got some wonderful pictures -- mostly of paths and bridges, which tells you where my head was that day (the camera never lies). But I am a TOTAL sucker for skunk cabbage; have been photographing it for years (with only occasional success) and apparently I couldn't resist capturing this one, and the way it so sweetly cradles and frames these fuschia wildflowers.

I suspect the reason it caught my eye yesterday is because there is in me -- in all of us these days, I suspect -- a longing for spring. And spring, of course, is skunk cabbage season, the time when all those brilliant yellow-greens burst forth, complete with that nasty skunky aroma, as if all that winter decay is done, and the scent of it is being released into the air to fuel new life.

I don't know where I'm going with this -- I'm not having one of my usual mornings, as my husband is bustling around getting ready for his trip to the airport, and he's just informed me we're taking an earlier ferry so I don't get to go to church either. But as he says, life is what happens while you're making other plans. At least he was willing to take the dog for his morning walk -- and now I need to leave.

So what is the scent of resurrection for you? Think about it; I'll check in when I get back.