One of my favorite things to do in the spring is to stand in an old growth forest, surrounded by ancient trees, as the ferns that thrive in their shadows unfurl.
Deer fern.
Bracken fern.
Sword fern.
Their fronds reaching toward the forest canopy, together.
And to observe other plants putting out their greenery and their flowers.
Pacific rhododendron, our state flower, we often find on the eastern slopes of the Olympic Mountains.
And the tiger lily frequently is seen on the side of forest roads and trails.
And I watch how water pours down from snow melt and sky.
Wallace River
I’m reminded that these things happen every year. Nature holds on to hope. Trees drop their leaves in fall in expectation that spring will come and they will breathe again. Flowers invest all their energy in blooming each spring in expectation that a bee will come and help them create seeds for the next year. There’s comfort to be found in that. In hoping.