Spring steals in soft, kitten's paws on branches. Soft, with whispers of winds in drying sands, and snow slinking away from whence it came in furtive shuffles.
Spring steals in soft, in winks and nods and subtle hints where you seek bold answers. It hides its glory in muddy footprints and snow mould and debris gently exposed.
Spring steals in.
Hope lies dormant, too, reflecting on cold truths, waiting, always waiting. It is under, beneath, a sub-floor of just-about and almost, while hearts pound with wondering.
Hope steals in soft, while winter waltzes white. Where evil lurks, in dark holes between soul-spaces, where good falls through the cracks and is frozen by indifference or contempt. It grows, a seed whose reliant roots are ever seeking the seam in the sidewalk, the spot where just the slivers of sunshine serve its circumference.
Pussy-willow soft, hope is.
Pussy-willows and hope hold hands, a soft grasp - for watching for the Lord God to move is like waiting for spring. We see signs, gentle hints that He is at work - and still we wait. There is an untimely frost, or a late snowstorm, and we wonder whether we ought to dream, whether our heart's dare has value. And then one day, Spring is full-grown. We wait no more, for it has overtaken the world with its pussy-willow sweetness, and souls pulse with the promise reborn.
Hope steals in soft, when we have grown tired of standing in interminable lines, when winter has the appearance of permanence. Hope holds out for green when grey grips our circumstances. Hope lifts heads and hearts high when pain ties a millstone to necks overburdened.
Do you see the gentle signs, the hints that God is already at work? Do you sense His Presence as you wait for this season of turmoil to change?
Spring steals in soft...