Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The world is gray - dripping, soggy, saturated gray. Coming back from our walk this afternoon, the air was so wet, it was hard to tell if the moisture was falling or rising. It's been more gray than not for weeks now, with no end in sight. June is often one of our wettest months. May is not supposed to be. It's supposed to be the bright sunlit glory born of the previous months of gray, like a reward for having endured all that darkness.
Somehow complaining about the unseasonable rain seems particularly ungraceful right now, especially with so much really wrong and hurtful in the world. I'm trying to find the gifts in this unusual time, not exactly ignoring my sadness at the lack of light and warmth, but just making room for more than that.
I've been surprised to see that spring has progressed at a regular pace even with minimal sun. My favorite farmer's market is selling local strawberries - the parking lot was jammed today. Rhodies and roses and rabbits abound. Swallows are nesting while grosbeaks and so many of their cousins are fledging.
Greens glow an almost nuclear light - the new buds on fir trees, new leaves on oak and maple and hazel, grasses bursting like fireworks in fields too wet to mow.
Lupine or daisies or hawkweed blanket every open space not filled with asphalt. And it was the lupine that helped me make the shift into wonder and curiosity last week. I'm really crazy for the tall purple spikes that grow wild around here. Sturdy plants that return year after year, but which won't easily tolerate being transplanted. If lupines were animals, they'd be considered social. You never see just one, or even a dozen. They exist in patches.
This year they're blooming in huge vibrant pools of the clearest violet blue imaginable. A pasture I drive by often is one enormous lupine landscape, so startling I hit my brakes every time. Roadsides and onramps sport torches of lavender light offering their glory, reaching into the hearts of anyone willing to see, declaring victory. Not against the darkness, but within it. Because without the cool damp shade of this May, their light would not be nearly so vivid.
photo from Flickr