In my part of the world, just outside Melbourne, the earth's rebirth has begun. This is not news, of course, nor is it the resurrection of nature, but merely awakening from the winterlong sleep. We use the word merely in its sense of time, not significance.
The earth and its attendant branches of family are blooming into beauty. This is the rising that brings joy and warmth to the soul. It's a co-dependency.
But yet it is a faith that runs only one way. Ours to it. The flower does not see, the bud does not hear, but we do and we drink in life's affirmations in such times.
In their new beginning is the rendering of our hope. Call it a gift of nature. There are a few colours of this rising but the predominant one is yellow.
Daffodils and jonquils be their names. Yellow, of course, has already brought its wash of colour to parts of the country. We are in the midst of the glorious reign of wattle.
This is also a gift that in the depths of winter the wattle can give to the world such brilliance and frailty There's an irony that the...
Warwick Mcfadyen.
