Wishing in the Dead of Winter

Ever really look at a grape hyacinth? It's a wish. It's a wonder. It's a full-color happening.

After a cold, cold, gray, gray winter, a few breaths past the first crocus, you might see one -- tiny thing. I used to wish them larger. I'd think of them as almost tiny trees. I wanted to stand under a grape hyacinth and look up into it the way I did other trees.

Such tiny things, I walk past without noticing their splendor. Where else do I see such vibrant blue, lush and full with life? When else does such a lovely gift come at such a perfect time?

So lacy and delicate. So full like the grapes their named after. So like an umbrella that became a delight. So blue that they overtake my imagination.

How could I possibly walk right by?

I'm wishing in the dead of winter for grape hyacinths.

I might never be able to look up from under one.

This spring I might give it a try anyway.

--me liz strauss, letting me be