When winter turns to summer – let’s not kid ourselves that there’s a spring in there – it is such a miraculous time.
Flowers seemingly bloom over night.
Along with the plants I can feel myself stretching up towards the sun, as if I too can photosynthesize. As if I too need that light and warmth for nourishment.
Like the tulips, I too start peeking my head above the ground, wondering what the world may bring.
The days are longer.
“After work” becomes more than a time for curling up on the couch, wondering if you should invest in a snuggie or a an electric blanket.
There are sights and sounds and color. So much to do.
And I can pass someone on the sidewalk. They’re so much wider now, without 10 feet of snow.
All that snow seems a distant memory, thought it may have left me as scared and wounded as my rose bushes.
Better prune it back a bit to let it grow. Let it stretch into the sunlight. Let it soak up the rain and relish the temperate air.
Let bloom again.