Hello, Snowdrops. I am in love with you. Please marry me. Please live in my heart. Little bulbs of mystery, silent stones that erupt into beauty with the slightest provocation, thus ending Winter’s reign. Tiny warriors, hobbits of the flower kingdom. Unlikely saviors. Live here. In the cold places of my heart. In the shadows of my mind. And do your tiny magic there, your sword dance of petals and green blades. Remind me of courage. Remind me of miracles.

(This was my little spontaneous prayer-conversation while painting the snowdrops blooming in my garden)

How do snowdrops do it? How do they know when to bloom? Is it the light, the thawing earth? Or some secret alchemical algorithm known only to the Snowdrop Queen, who conducts the Snowdrop Symphony from her ethereal fairy realm? 

And what can the Snowdrops teach us? How do we know when to bloom? How do we know when to open up and offer our unique algorithm of light to the world? What light is our body dreaming up, anyway? 

Maybe it is easier to be a Snowdrop than it is to be Human. The Snowdrop knows what to do, where to find its meaning, which is to make more Snowdroplets, yes?

But what if there’s more to the Snowdrop Story? Stories about courage, and voice, and the weave of the world―a weave we can’t see, because we don’t have Snowdrop Vision.

What if the Snowdrops add to the Song of the World in a way that uplifts us all?

And what if Snowdrops are woven with Humans in a co-creative relationship?

Surely they are! And they sing to us of courage and miracles, while we nurture their work in our gardens. In that way, the relationship with Snowdrops and Humans nurtures collective courage and miracles.

We are always in need of that, so thank you, tiny, brave flowers. 

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