Today is February 8th —
Fifty days of winter are passed,
forty days till the official start of spring.
And these seed packets arrived in the mail the other day —
cosmos, cornflowers, sunflowers, zinnias.
I carry them around in my shirt pocket
little envelopes of hope,
or I stand them up on the window frame
so that when I look out at the gray sky,
and its threatening snow,
I see them first.
At night I place them at the feet of
holy Fiacre of Meaux,
my gardener patron
who blesses them through the dark time.
O God,
thank you for the gift of seeds —
that life is always tucked in somewhere,
that beauty can be restored,
joy can be renewed,
promise is eternal.
