This wan wee snowdrop , sae bonny

I passed this walking to work this morning. A snowdrop past it's most vibrant, but it doesny matter. Snowdrops to me are my Gran right there on the walk to work. I feel her beautiful humble presence and honest spirituality that shone out of her to anyone around. It rooted deep into my soul.
She was a prize-winning gardener and could create these amazing bloom explosions of colour and form. She had this gift of transformation that happened in gardens, hanging baskets and the lives of those who knew her. Always for the better, always uplifting her surroundings with her genius of being utterly who she was.
Anyway: the snowdrops. Snowdrops bring me close to her because of a story she told me. She often wished that I shared her faith and this time she tried to explain it to me. Not in any grand way, but in a simple story about her and the earth she cultivated so intuitively.
One late February she was out in the back garden with the spade trying to turn the soil to prepare it for planting. She soon realised that it was too early, and the ground was still frozen and rock solid. Half an hour she sliced away only to be defeated by the hard soil. She headed indoors and there, just next to the back door, was a snowdrop ....
" ..and I looked at it son, this wee fragile thing that I could have plucked from the ground easily, and yet it had grown through this hard ground that me with my sharp spade couldn't cut. This wee thing, this wee bit of life in the frozen ground. That's God to me son. Life over death."

It's nice having Gran close.