Andy and I have been happily watching the bright chartreuse emergence of the fig leaves in our potted plants that have been overwintering in the garage. They are the very first signifiers of spring, starting well before anything outdoor feels safe enough to emerge. March is dangerous business for an outdoor plant in upstate New York.
We enjoy the delicate first flush of leaves close-up, taking the time to examine and appreciate them, because they will not last. In the dim windless protection of the garage, they come into the world to cheer us momentarily, but as soon as they get brought out into the wilderness of the backyard, where there is no shade and no buffer from the wind and colder nights, these leaves will shrivel and drop before the real summer crop begins.
For now, they give us hope. I know Andy is getting antsy for the warmer weather, for the time when his back will ease a bit with the heat and the pool and the extended sunlight. He has eyes on opening the pool at the earliest opportunity, a happy thought not very far away.
I yearn for that too.
