The seeds of spring are warming beneath the earth, just beginning their long journey towards the open sky. So strange that, to the naked eye, these miraculous blooms seem to spring spontaneously out of nowhere. In truth, they have been germinating, cradled—and shrouded—in darkness, for longer than anyone can remember. Not even the sun can know the arc of this blooming.

There is more than can be spoken that is embedded in these seeds-turning-blooming. Even their destined future appearance as magnificent flowers (and their eventual return to the earth) will not give away their secrets unfolding. Even the artist’s eye of description cannot trace their point of origin. Still, s/he can extend the mystery into heightened beholding, for the bounty and beauty of all who follow the gossamer thread of artistic devotion—that simple act of paying attention that we all treasure and carry and have the capacity to bestow. The devotion of simply paying attention to what it is that is emerging within you and around you as You, as the one who cannot be fully known and yet we do become—this is our birthright.

Cherish the sunlight of compassion that dwells within, coaxed as it is into expression according to the generous warmth of others. Let it touch the innermost yet to emerge. Drink deeply of the water of wisdom that flows from within, dowsed as it is by the oasis of others’ sparkling clarity. Let it polish the stones, making way. Remember always, as Alice Walker has long imparted, that ‘The Nature of This Flower Is to Bloom’ (Revolutionary Petunias, 1971).