I saw these guys on my walk in the woods yesterday.
Crocus flowers, or pasque flowers as they are sometimes called, fascinate me. As forerunners they are the first to demonstrate the change in season by the prophetic act of blooming before any of the other wild flowers in the Rockies.
I read this recently: Hope is hearing the music of the future; faith is being able to dance to it today.
The crocus reveals, as it folds back its furry purple robes, a heart of gold. It’s mere presence between patches of dust-weary snow in the mountain meadows sings to me songs of stepping into destiny by faith.
Come out of your caves! Don’t let your past define who you are today!
Open to the light! Let it dispel all the dark fear that keeps you from letting anyone see your heart! You are beautiful!
Wakey! Wakey! Even Solomon…
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