First daffodil

Even when everything seems so bleak–next to no rains in so many months, only dirt where a bit of grass and plenty of horseherb once flourished–nature never gives up. I could learn some lessons here, looks like.

Admittedly, honestly, it's been difficult for me as well recently. Personally speaking, I've been struggling as a writer. I feel empty inside. No motivation. No desire to create. Is it the winter doldrums? The recent loss of my beloved father? Hormones even? (Hey, I turn 50 next month! How's that for being candid!) I'm not sure, but it's agonizing. Because writing is what I do for my living. And for my spirit. If I didn't write, I simply wouldn't be me. So when that part of me feels so empty, so nothing, I can't describe the lostness that envelopes me.

Then today I see our yard's first daffodil.... A promise of more good things to come. A symbol of hope, beauty, newness. Rebirth. Brighter days coming. Perhaps rain. Even rain. Blessed rain.

I also spot a tiny spider (perhaps a long-jawed orbweaver), legs folded, body tucked within the flower's folds. It, too, found spring's first daffodil and doesn't want to let go.

We'll both hang on, my spider friend and me. Because as long as we do, the flower's many promises will come true. Maybe not today, but soon. Very soon.