A Little Late

It’s here. The spring weather I’ve longed for has arrived like a somewhat-late symphony. It’s settling in, tuning instruments, and preparing to show us something magnificent.

I spend an afternoon with my hands in the dirt—the heady aroma, intoxicating, as I top up pots and plant flowers, imagining how they’ll fill in with colour over the next number of months.

I sweep the deck and sweep the steps. I move chairs around and think I should get a rag and a bucket of water to wash them. But my eye catches the lilac bush in the back yard. It’s starting to bloom, and I must take some photos. Its season is so brief. So, I grab my camera and head out to the back yard to play for a while.

And this is the kind of Sunday afternoon I’ve longed for; this, the first of many. It’s time to plant my garden, and sit outside, and leave the windows and doors open. It’s spring. A little late, but right on time.

Word wrangler. Photo taker. I'm here early most mornings with one of my photos and a few words about life and those thin places where faith intersects.
2 comments
  1. I notice that you choose creativity over cleaning. Wise move!

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.