I sit by the fire tonight anticipating the new life which stirs outside. Just beneath the surface bulbs give birth to green fans and foliage, some tip-toeing through the soil reaching toward the sun's warmth. I took a walk through the remnants of winter’s unkempt gardens this week to examine the earth; to touch, to see, and smell. The sun warmed me as its rays touched my arms and face; a sun absent far too long from our lives. The earth was dry again. A few white candytuft blossoms greeted me among the buds on the bank. This bank will be magical when it is fully covered in white and sprinkled with blue lithodora. It will be the first to bloom. I observed it all carefully, searching for the flush of new growth, the promise of tomorrow’s bounty. I noticed one Lenton rose now open, and the primroses blooming in pastels. Little green stubble peeped at me from crowns indented in the soil. Short wisps of thin green stems moved gently as I passed. All was perfect in this NW garden’s life.
Irises are pointing their green fans toward the treetops, and new foliage is inching up to join. Soon the daffodils, now taller than my hand, will cover the landscape like lemons ready to be picked, and the perfume of hyacinths will float in the air. Tall stalks of tulips will dance lightly in April’s breeze, swirling pinks and purples around the cherry tree whose weeping arms will swath her in white. May will open the irises like a color box of crayons, some petals pointing up and others curling down to give the bearded flower its formal shape. Their Dutch cousins will mix creamy yellows with lilac and splash India-ink blue across the palette. It will be a stunning bouquet. Rhododendrons breaking the silence of their green winter nest will open in waves of lavenders and purples, whites and magentas. Pink azaleas will join in this celebration of rebirth, and in every direction I look I will see nature's glory. It will cause me to pause. Every time my eyes meet this landscape I will marvel that it is ours.
It is no wonder we love to garden. We paint a canvas with flowers instead of oils and then rest in perfumed air, drinking fresh lemonade as we admire our work. Spring cannot come too soon to this house.