Four years ago this week, my dad passed away. And then, just one week after we laid him in the ground, Spring sprung in a way we had never experienced. The blossoms on his flower farm came alive in a manner that took our breath away. Fuller, brighter, almost impossibly abundant. Almost unbelievable.
I walked the fields with my camera in hand, surrounded by color and quiet, gathering a kind of hope I still don’t quite have words for.
Maybe you need this today. A reminder that Spring always comes. It always rises up, even out of the hardest crust of winter.
