I took a walk yesterday. All around the gardens, in between the raindrops, the first official spring assessment feels to me like visiting old friends you haven't seen in a while. The weather was so extreme this past winter, I was happy to see so much apparently has survived.
The crocuses, the hyacinths and the snowdrops are blooming. The silver willows have burst gold. In patches, the grass is turning emerald green, and the branches of the lilac are swelling with fat buds. The waterfall is foaming and Mr and Mrs Duck showed up exactly a month ago.
This spring has a particularly poignant edge to it. It's a week ago my father died. For years, my father wished he was well enough to travel, well enough to come and see the beautiful place where I live.
As I splashed through the puddles and inspected the beds and the bushes and the buds, I felt very strongly that this year, at last, he has.
These bright red flowers that grow up to six feet on spikes are hard to
miss. This wildflower is native to North America and grows in marshes,
along stre...
3 comments:
It is a mighty blessing to be wandering the gardens again. I'm certain your father feels the same … wandering them with you.
Thank you, Annie, for posting. ♡♡♡
So poignant and so filled with hope. Thank you for sharing.
I am so glad he was able to come for a visit, however that may be.
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