An exercise in hope and the hidden promise of tomorrow.

[pinto]

On the spur of the moment, my sister and I spent a couple of hours this morning planting bulbs. Daffodils, sporaxis, ixia, anemone, freesia, ranunculus...a little late for some, a little early for others, but here on the California coast the weather is forgiving. While we don't get the chill needed for a show of tulips and hyacinths and such, these will do just fine.

As corny as it may seem, I love bulbs.

There's an element of not-quite-blind hope - and promise - in each seemingly lifeless kernel, that with the winter rains and the lengthening sun will grow and come to full flower. Knowing, as well, that the process includes a browning and return to dormancy each bulb will eventually complete.

Some will naturalize, here, some won't make it through the dry months without help, and some won't last beyond this cycle.

Yet hopeful, we sat back when done, with bowls of hot soup and steaming mugs of coffee, to survey the bare ground and imagine what beauty a few months would bring.

I think we'll make this an annual New Year's event.

Happy New Year all. Let's hope it's a good one.