At the time of this writing, I am fighting off some sort of flu thing that has me simultaneously going through frigid bone-rattling chills and sweat-dripping hot flashes within five minutes of each other. There’s also the body aches and pains that accompany it all, which is super fun. All the NyQuil and DayQuil has me feeling a bit trippy too, so bear with this brunt of a post. See, I don’t even think that’s correct but I can’t be bothered to check. That’s not the point of this post anyway.
We’ve had a rough start to spring, if it can even be called that, and it’s hard to find hope in all this brown and gray and frozen earth. But the other day I found the smallest little balls of promise on the weeping larch, and if a crying shrub can produce a happy bit of hope, then maybe we can all find the same. In these photos, tightly coiled and ready to pop open, is the start of the season. It’s taken too long.
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