Looking inside a snowdrop
Have you ever looked at the inside of a snowdrop flower? Here's a photo of one variety, seen from underneath. Every day this Lent I'm trying to notice at least one thing to be thankful for, especially if I haven't noticed it before. This is a good year for snowdrops, flowers I have seen in late winter every year since childhood, but never bothered to look inside.
In our garden the earliest snowdrops first appeared just after Christmas and are now at their best. Towards the end of the dark cold winter, snowdrops are such a reassuring sign of the new life to come when spring really gets going. They have been busy during this wet cold winter, in secret and darkness under the earth. There is no sign of them then, under the dead leaves in the shady places. You would think they had died. Not so. The snowdrop bulbs have been sending down deep roots and growing new bulbs. As they start to flower in the snow they look so fragile, but must in fact be really tough. They survive the harshest winters.
A few days ago, I mentioned to a friend that I loved snowdrops. This person is a talented amateur artist and flower-arranger. She said that she especially loved the inside of the snowdrop flower. That was a jaw-dropping moment for me. How could I have reached the age I am without ever spending time looking inside a snowdrop? I suppose because unlike other flowers like lilies they don't ostentatiously display their stamens etc. The bell-like snowdrop flowers hang their heads shyly and I usually look at them from above. I have now got down really low and taken a good look at the insides, which are truly beautiful. I suppose some people are like that, protectively hiding some of their inner beauty or talents, so others only see the outside as they look down on them.
Today I am thankful for the inside of a snowdrop and for the lovely person who told me it was worth looking for.
Here's some more snowdrops with some beautiful music for you.
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