We're fortunate that we live in the country and that the house faces both east and west. I'm a sunrise watcher. Each morning, I pause for about fifteen minutes to watch the dark purples and dusky grays of night transform into the reds, purples, and golds of sunrise. I watch the sun rise over the mountains and fields, touching everything with new warmth and glow and life. Each sunrise is the promise of a new day...a new beginning...another chance to live and love. If I could see nothing else again, I would choose to see only the sunrise. Whenever my faith in God falters a bit, it reaffirms itself in the dawn.

In Vermont, there are very distinct seasons, each with their own character and beauty. We have warm summers, brilliant autumns, snowy winters, and springs filled with hope. Of all the seasons, spring if by far my favorite. As I write this, it is early April, and the lilies have started pushing up tender pale green shoots. The first crocus has not come yet. There is still snow on the ground, but it's dirty and receeding. We're really in "mud season," that crazy interim between true winter and true spring. Anyone who has ever lived in northern New England will know exactly what I mean. The paved roads are full of frost heaves and potholes and the dirt roads are the consistency of brownie batter.

The first crocus, which should be appearing almost any day now, is so very special to me. It means we have survived yet another winter. We have made it! We can now start opening windows and stashing away the heavy coats. Soon everything will be fresh and green and new. And along with the crocus, I too will have yet another chance to be fresh and new. My life, with the grace of God and the glory of nature, has been renewed. Oh, the wonder of sunrises and crocuses!