Spring

The past weekend saw spring finally return to Brno. Birds are singing, the thickest coats have been hung on pegs further from the door, and the first traveling circuses have staked tents and arrived. Pitchers and catchers have reported to Komárov, where the Brno Dragons play, and above all, the sun's rays have broken through the clouds. 

This year, spring is late, and there are already fears about the grape harvest in South Moravia, but young people are taking wine up to the castle on the hill anyway, because now is not the time to save old grapes. 

The Moravian metropolis smells different too. The perfume of spring, the perfume of girls, the smell of grass, still to early to cut, but if you open your window, you can catch a whiff of it growing nonetheless.

Spring is of course that time of new promise, a sneak-peak demonstration of the possibilities of life; the potential hidden in every seed, and every bud.

While there is certainly much death -- far too much -- in the world of man, this shall pass. Yet little captures for us an image of divine love and the promise of life quite like a perfect, new spring day. This too shall pass, but we shall pass first.