When I saw what they had done, I wondered if there was any hope left for us. If human beings could blindly rob each other of such a simple and beautiful little gift as this garden, could there be any redemption for us at all? As if destroying all the forests around us for profit were not enough, they had to take this little green oasis away just for the hell of it. No, worse than that. It was for the sport of it. It was presented as being in the "best interest" of this community, because otherwise homeless people might find solace there along with the rest of us. Better that no one have it to enjoy than that "those people" might find a quiet place to rest. And so, they tore it down.
It's been a long and bitter winter.
We've had many moments over the winter to reflect on the harshness that has crept over our world.
But this morning, as I walked past the desecrated site, I had to pause. There, in the middle of the bare earth, I saw the tender purple-tinged blossoms of at least a dozen little crocus lifting their delicate heads above the stark surroundings. And I realized they had been sleeping there all along, waiting for the spring.
Nature is subtle, but very, very strong.
All the loud and inelegant tools weilded by the great city of portland and state of oregon rumbled across the earth, waging war upon the garden. But beneath it all, the tiny crocuses survived. I find myself wondering what other plump white roots might be swelling beneath the soil nearby, what other stoic bulbs might be reawakening, what other questing shoots might find their way to the surface and into the fragrant sunlight once again.
And it occurs to me that maybe the winter is finally over.