Although the garden is not planted... we are finally outdoors enough that I can think about the garden. The crocuses, daffodils, pussywillow, and forsythia have brightened the landscape. I see some hyacinths breaking free, but not yet in bloom. Shoots are creeping up out of the ground around my many perennials. Buds on the plum tree and dogwood have me hopeful that the new trees planted last year survived my August neglect. I worry most for the baby black gum and I can't tell yet if he survived.
The garden is still more bleak than lush. Something about the contrast of weary brown stalks juxtaposed with hopeful bulbs stirs my blood. I can hear analogies to the long nights we are still suffering with the new baby. Spring is coming. Spring is coming. Change is coming.
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