Wintered, Not Withered

The earth is waking up. You can feel it if you step outside in the early morning—the light lingering a little longer, the soil softening, the air carrying that subtle promise that winter is loosening its grip. I’ve been watching my pansies closely, half expecting to find them bowed and spent after the cold. But most of them made it. Quietly. Steadily. No fanfare, just life continuing.

It’s always struck me as strange that we call someone a “pansy” to mean weak. Pansies are anything but. These little flowers endured a frigid winter with more grit than many would expect. My family and I only moved into this home two months ago, so the pansies had gone without water for weeks before we arrived. Then there was the freeze. The previous owner had wedged them tightly into the flower boxes, and I couldn’t even get them out to bring them inside for protection. They stayed. They endured. And somehow, they are still here—bright faces lifted toward the returning sun.

There is something profoundly comforting about that. The power and beauty of the natural world never ceases to humble me. These small blooms, so delicate in appearance, carry a quiet tenacity that feels almost sacred. When something goes wrong in my own life, I think of them. They survived neglect, cold, and confinement. They adapted. They persisted. If these tough little flowers can rise again with color and grace, perhaps we can too.