Yesterday it was gray and sometimes rainy. Sitting in my kitchen, I caught a glimpse of yellow daffodils, their bright color intensified in the setting of dull skies. It seemed to me a metaphor for what I have looked for every day in this long year of Covid-19. A year ago, in the first shock of lockdown, I took photos every day of the lilacs that were coming into bloom. It was, I thought then, a spiritual exercise to follow the small changes, appreciating each day's advance to full bloom, full perfume. On the Kdramas I watch, the practice of saying "thank you" -- like the practice of saying "I'm sorry" -- is emphasized. People say, "Thank you for getting well." Or "Thank you for being here when I got home." It's very much gratitude for the grace of presence. And so yesterday I said to the daffodils, "Thank you for being here." And as the daffodils fade, the lilacs will bloom. I didn't know, before this year, why gardeners think so deeply about the flow of bloom and form throughout the year. Now I know that it means that everyday there is something to remind me of hope, something that gives me a chance to say, "Thank you."
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