Their bright faces upturned reaching towards the light, towards the warmth.
The fact that such beauty springs from the plainest of bulb roots, hidden deep within the earth over the coldest months never ceases to amaze me.
We plant these bulbs in anticipation of what we hope they will become, yet never knowing if they will choose to be brave and poke their head through the soil, to choose the life less ordinary.
And yet here they are. Hundreds upon hundreds. Blooming every year.
Each flower a success story in its own right.
Each beautiful petal formed lovingly inside the shelter of the bud.
And me? How was I formed?
'You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother's womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Your workmanship is marvelous, how well I know it.
You watched me as I was being formed in utter seclusion, as I was woven together in the dark of the womb. You saw me before I was born.
Every day of my life was recorded in your book. Every moment was laid out before a single day had passed.
How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered'
Psalm 139 v 13-17