I love spring anywhere, but if I could choose I would always greet it in a garden.
The soil has been turned and the garlic uncovered. I stand alone in the garden as Gerry pushes the wheelbarrow back to its place by the shed, a little red-haired girl his giggling passenger.
i survey the space, considering what will go where this year, arranging and rearranging tomato cages, content in the quiet moment. I love it here. I love it best when I can work in solitude with my hands in the earth and my mind on the truth that the garden teaches me again and again.
For now, a laughing granddaughter is running toward me and a husband is asking if I’ve seen his sweater. Work done for today, we three turn and head toward the car. He whispers to me: iced capp?
Yes, I agree.
We head to Tim Hortons for the first ones of the season: iced cappuccinos for us and a berry smoothie for our granddaughter—and a small box of Tim Bits just because she asked.
It is spring. And it is well.