At the time of this writing, Boston is under threat of a winter storm walloping (it will likely have already arrived by the time this gets posted), so I must admit to being glad of not being there right now. Just a few short days ago I captured this promising bush in bud in the Boston Public Garden, where witch hazel was also on the verge of blooming, the willows were gaining in their chartreuse color, and the pond was being worked on for its near-future filling. It was a scene of possibility, the earliest peek at the spring to come, and it made me happy to see. There are good memories in that Garden.
As for our own gardens, they are still mostly buried in snow – lots and lots of dirty snow. I made the first pass through the backyard yesterday, when a pair of cardinals was calling out to me. Loads of bunny droppings were scattered generously throughout the space, a boon to the soil, I hope – but the ground remained frozen. Not one sign of snowdrops or Scilla, or even the tattered foliage of the Lenten rose. It’s late arriving, but spring is assuredly on the way. It has to be.
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