Resurrection

Spring in Salisbury

If I was to encounter winter for the very first time I might conclude that everything was heading to some final end. Growth has stopped, the earth feels bare, and there is little left to eat. The insects are gone, and so have the migrating birds. Everything looks dead. 

Spring is the resurrection of the earth.

I can feel the sun's warmth on my skin and so can the soil. Spring has gently woken the dormant landscape, coaxing it back into movement and song. It feels like a celebration to me, a faithful reminder that death is not final. There is joyful singing in the hedgerows and the ground is carpeted in bold, defiant colour. 

When I see the first shoots breaking through the cold soil, I'm reminded that life can emerge from what seems lost. It feels miraculous every time, though it happens every year. Perhaps that's why spring moves me so deeply. It tells the same story written into the fabric of faith and creation; that renewal follows surrender and that life has the courage to begin again.

So I walk through these days with gratitude, aware of how light and life are woven together. The earth remembers how to resurrect itself, and perhaps we do too.