Lenten Roses in Snow
It’s been a winter of political sound and fury. Scattered announcements, meant to knock us senseless, fly at us like the driven hail.
But in my garden one February afternoon, a bowl-shaped flower opened about six inches above the snow. My first Lenten rose. But, hey, who cares about a small, grey-green plant in a frozen garden when the country seems to be crumbling, right?
Well, me, for one.
I envy these flowers. In the cold of winter, just as the gardener despairs of spring, these slender petals open, keeping watch on the unshakable rhythm of life.
Not a raging orator, but sometimes a little pink flower in the snow can offer hope.
The poet Jim Harrison wrote, “The government offers you nothing but apprehension. Only you can offer yourself peace.”
The next morning, my Lenten rose had three new buds and I glimpsed an upward path: Its roots were spreading underneath the snow. Soon new colonies of flowers would burst into the light like little rays of hope.
Native Places: Drawing as a Way to See: A book by Frank Harmon. To learn more click here.
Frank Harmon is an architect, educator, and writer who is well known for designing buildings that cultivate the “native wisdom” of their place.
He sketches often, finding that the practice enriches his connection to the world. In his recently released book, Frank offers an invitation: drawing as a way to inspire curiosity, presence, and everyday joy.