Spring

The entrance to the yoga studio is around the back. A gate leads from a narrow, dimly lit tarred walkway to a bright sculpted garden by the door. Spiky iris, feathery poppy, and the red stalks that will be peonies sprout through the soil, lovingly tended. It’s hard not to smile on my way in to class.

I pass the plot of healthy spring plants on my way back down that path. Something in the shadows catches my eye. Springing forth not from loam but from pavement, surrounded by gray, is a lone flower. It’s determination makes me smile all the way into my heart, where a haiku forms.

A blue hyacinth
Pokes through an asphalt alley
Reaching toward the light

On my next visit to the studio, I won’t hurry toward the lush, sunny garden in back any more. I ease past what is a reminder that when I feel I’ve been dealt tar and shadows with this PD, may I bloom with the same strength and grace as the blue hyacinth.