Dewi Sant
Happy St David’s Day! Mom used to call us all on March 1 to remind us of our ancestry. She would remind her youngest child that he was named for the patron saint of her ancestors. And she would look for the daffodils that might soon be rising above the melting frost in her garden.
My first visit to Wales was while I was studying abroad in college. I took a train to the coast and stood on a cliff overlooking the sea in December. The town nearby was quiet, the wind lashed my face with biting drops of cold rain and seawater torn from the tops of waves. The sky was the color of slate from one horizon to the other.
And I felt like my feet could sink down into that rocky soil and become rooted, forever at home in that place. Some ancestral memory, perhaps? A sense of pride and connection with my family who have lived there since time immemorial? Or just the longing of a teenager to feel connected to something bigger than himself? Who can say.
I know that I also look for the daffodils’ defiance of winter’s grasp, and its announcement of warmth and color and blooming, buzzing life.
I know that I hang the flag as a remembrance of my mother and grandparents, looking forward to seeing them again with fresh soul-eyes.
I know that Dewi Sant, or Saint David, reminds me that the little things often matter very much, and the little lives need tendance.
“Gwnewch y pethau bychain mewn bywyd.”
Do the little things.
Tend the small lives.
Watch for the daffodils.
And when you see them rise, point to them and show someone you love. “Look,” you might say, since that can be one of the kindest words when pointing to small, not-yet-noticed beautiful things that are just rising to bloom.
