Sometimes spring takes us unexpectedly and one is roused earlier in the morning by the communication of the birds, hollering frantically, forcefully declaring their territory to one another. And on some days, spring seeps through the window panes and the cloth of the curtains more ardently than before. The spring sunlight penetrates one’s eyelids with a welcoming glow.
It is early March, and the lambs bleat and play, much like children do.
My body feels more restless and energetic as if the spring is calling me to take part in whatever role I am to play today.
Spring, the season of new life, resurrection and of miracles.
And sometimes spring comes and produces beautiful Daffodils for one to place on a loved one’s coffin. And when I was forced on Monday to say goodbye to my favorite man in the world (my Grandad) it felt right that he was celebrated in amongst the vivid, blooming wildflowers.
All the snowdrops, crocuses, primroses and pussy willow seem to force their way through the frosty air or ground in abundance, decorating vast expanses of green grass. Each flower reminding me of the relentless, natural cycle of this life, touching me as a bittersweet comfort.
I must move with this season and flow with it. For the first time I must learn to let go and yet keep the love and strength my Grandad gave me over twenty-five years. And so sometimes spring mollifies one’s feelings of loss and shows one the way forward.
Below I share with you some pictures of one of my favorite days with my Grandad form 2015. We went to the Saltee Island to see the Sea Birds in all their glory.