Flower bulbs have always intrigued me. Dusty bundles of earth-clad teardrops, randomly submerged in the dirt in the chill autumn air… Little or no care through the winter, they wait patiently for an ounce of warmth. Then I walk past and see a yellow or purple crocus bloom peeking out through the winter snow!
How hardy these tiny nodules must be, and how persevering. They must be the pure image of hope, their beauty emerging in a barren frost. And how like them I feel I am. Where there was little positivity or resource in my life, there I was in the middle, struggling to keep my head above the surface.
I have emerged amidst the snow, a bloom representing a new beginning despite adversity. The threat of depression and anxiety buried beneath my roots, I am free to thrive in the sun.
