Miracles and metaphors

These lines from a William Wordsworth poem came to mind late yesterday as I walked around, admiring the first of the daffodils to burst into bloom in the museum garden.

I wandered lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;

Beside the lake, beneath the trees,

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

And elsewhere, the star magnolia --- some day, perhaps, a tree --- fully budded and just now bursting into bloom.

Holy Week begins today for the western Christian church, Palm Sunday, then a few days investing time and energy in old liturgies, rationalizing the mystery plays of our collective culture. Some will discern miracles; others, metaphors.

But there's no doubt about the perfectly ordinary but quite miraculous nature of what's unfolding now in the garden as spring returns.