A good friend sent me this poem--a reminder that new life comes every year.
When the sun comes down to earth, so to speak, we get into it.
When the sun lies long against the ground and gets warm into it
then we come out of the rooms and lie down,
bandaged here and there like warriors.
When the sun comes warm and clear down to the ground
then we crawl on our bellies or backs or otherwise into it.
When it comes down hard
touching beyond equivocation
when it is not lost head-high in the air
when the sun comes down hard enough to mean spring
then it invites us into it as it invites the leaf out of its dark twig
and pigment pleads its passion in the sun.
I know and reknow this every year.
1. Strong, beautiful violet bursting through the gravel.
2. Tiny sprouts of broccoli emerging
3. Our daughter, Sallie, checking on progress.