At least, I need it so that I’ll prescribe it for everyone. In a world that’s sometimes confusing, frustrating, even exacerbating, hope adds meaning. It raises my spirits, inspires me to plan, create, and reach out for life. Spring abounds with symbols of hope. Leaves and blossoms bursting forth with the promise of renewal and fruit. These delicate bell-shaped blooms, along with the bees that are pollinating them, have their own beauty but in them I can only see the luscious, juicy, sweet, blueberries that will ripen in the yet-to-come summer sun.
For now, it’s a simple hope but one that makes me giddy with thoughts of summer treats. It’s the same kind of hope that I see in the smile of a child, the grimace of protesters, or tears at a wedding. That bloom knows not if the sun will shine this June, the weather these days is anything but certain. But it blooms, attracts bees, and works at yielding fruit. So too, do I awake each day not knowing what lies ahead but I do hope to do a little blooming, cultivate my life a bit more, and work at yielding some fruit in my labors.
It’s all I can ask of myself but it’s this one thing I can add to the list my life’s certainties: death, taxes, and hope.