Hope Springs Eternal

The first thought that came to my mind as I drove away from home this morning and felt the warmth of the sunshine on my face was “Hope Springs Eternal!”  A proverbial phrase that I have used occasionally throughout my life but just now looked it up to discover it was coined by the poet Alexander Pope in 1732 as part of a poem intended to convey that it is human nature to always find fresh cause for optimism.

I like that. And the fact the word “spring” is used (even though with a different meaning) certainly applies to how I felt on this day, just a few days past the official first day of spring.  The sky was that hue of blue that calms and enlivens at the same time, the clouds were fluffy and white without a hint of snow in them. The grass was working hard to look green among the sprigs of winter brown still lurking in the lawns.

It was the kind of day that made me wish I was a poet.

C.S. Lewis taught; “Don’t say something is delightful, make us say delightful when we’ve read the description.” 

Alas, I’m not a poet or I would be able to express how I felt when moments after driving away I spotted the first Snowdrop flowers of the year –as white as the snow that once covered them but attached to stems colored a true spring green.  There’s no other color as hopeful as spring green don’t you agree? And the blossom’s very smallness, purity, bell shape and  firmness is a perfect way to announce the beginning of spring and offer an inkling of hope!  But my words are not enough; I would so like to be a poet.

If I were a poet I would be able to tell you how I felt when I stopped at the park and saw the squirrels running about, leaping from branch to branch and up and down the trunks of the trees, not in desperate search for food but it seemed they were enjoying the sunshine and the freedom to MOVE.  Not unlike the children on the play equipment, still dressed in warm clothes but laughing and squealing at the pleasure of being outside while their mothers stood together talking and nodding to each other and expressing their joy with animated gestures.

If I were a poet I would be able to express how I felt watching a father and his young son rolling by on their matching skateboards on a dry sidewalk, no ice to dodge!

Or how beautiful the words of a poet would be if she captured how I felt when I heard the chirping of birds or noticed how the sun glimmered on the lake.

Or the moment of joy like an unexpected ray of sunshine I felt at the entrance of a bookstore when a young man opened a door for me and smiled like I mattered. What a hopeful feeling it is to know that chivalry is alive and well.

Oh how a poet would be able to make you enjoy the pleasantry I experienced when I stopped into a French Bakery and nibbled on a Palmier pastry that brought back memories of finding that same kind of gooey delight in the shape of a palm frond in my Easter basket as a child.

If I were a poet I would be able to describe my overwhelming desire to share this “here comes spring” day with Dale! Oh dear, there is that inevitable and involuntary twist of the heart and the heavy sigh.

Quoting C.S. Lewis again (as I often do) “Grief is like a long valley, a winding valley where any bend may reveal a totally new landscape.”  

You think you are fine and then…you realize you’re alone, not just alone but the much darker form of loneliness which murmurs "I'm without him."   I yearn to have the poetic words that follow that flow from inner turmoil to "hope springs eternal" or to even have the words that explain how that actually happens over and over and over again. 

Perhaps thinking again of the snowdrop and the children playing and the young man and the French pastry were like moments of wordless poetry that guided me gently from grief to hope. Hope that I can still live a purposeful life. Hope that I can be of service. Hope that I can still love each thing of beauty and each person I meet and make the rest of my life be one that Dale will want to hear all about. And then to hear him say …”That was delightful.” And maybe, just maybe it will be like poetry to his ears.

 I’m hopeful.