The dandelion endures Winter
Because Spring is a promise.

As did we.
A Winter so severe, it cuts like a knife as it enters
     Twenty
Almost as lethal as it renders its exit wound,
     Twenty.
When you say those numbers, we all immediately know
The Winter that was.
That we all endured.

At first, a snowflake.
A small thing. 
The news doesn’t report one fallen snowflake.
We barely noticed.
Life had us tightly in its grasp, surely you don’t stop for one.

But then another. 
And another.
And another fell.
And the dark days of Covid had blown to our door.

Some whispered, this isn’t real. This isn’t happening.
But forces of nature don’t care what you believe.

Most others, we hid our faces from the storm.
We tried to smile at strangers... But it was a long and bitter storm.
And it slowed us in our tracks.

But we learned to look for the promise of Spring in each other's eyes.
And in our eyes, we smiled.
We wept.
Perhaps for a moment, we found ourselves again.

And slowly, our promised Spring arrived.
First for the elderly. They found what sunshine felt like again.
Brought by a prick, a bandaid, and a sigh of relief.

Oh the relief.
We began to breathe again.

Winter will do that…
Lull you into a false sense of thriving mortality.
When you take your first breath- it is warm with the scent of life, of hope.
Only then do you realize- at the point of near existential suffocation, 
How tightly you were holding your breath.
     Don’t cry in front of the children.
     Don’t hug.
     Don’t touch.
     Keep your distance.
     Hold. Your. Breath.

But Spring is promised.
It always is.
And it always comes.

Every Winter we endure.
We don’t move through it.
We don’t overcome.
We don’t merely arrive on the other side…
We carry it with us, every single one.

Spring arrived for us all, eventually.
Carefully rolled out in measures.
Those who did not make it- to feel the sunshine brought with a syringe and bandaid,
Those snowflakes that fell and melted in their beautiful crystalized perfection…
Are a part of us.
Because we were all there.

The dandelion doesn’t forget the Winter it endured- merely because it survived.
It sleeps,
Then grows.
It puffs,
And blows.
Despite itself, it carries on.
It remembers.
It honors the Winter it came from.

And if we’re lucky.
If we’re even a little bit wise,
We learn from every Winter endured.

Because Spring is promised. 
It always is.