She stretches, reaching far; she yawns, throws back the covers and gently touches her toes to the floor. Spring, she will come. No matter how winter tries to keep her, she will come.
Such beauty is there in her quiet way, how she touches the brown with the faintest of greens, building up stroke by stroke its depth and height until a riot of green surges behind her. She walks past and the barren is suddenly bursting.
We’ve been watching.
And we’ve been coming alive.
Wrapping up the indoor things just as quickly as we can (it’s never soon enough), we head outside to see what she’s done now. And we dive in (some diving with more gusto than others) with rakes and wheelbarrow and our own two hands, trimming, gathering, and hauling, the six of us (because Nellie girl certainly carried her share of sticks, too), heaping up the burn pile and rendering to ash winter’s debris.
The carpenter came, and left the larder with new doors(!), the bedding hung on the line as spring cleaning indoors met up with spring cleaning outdoors, and after a thorough top-to-bottom, the library shed is not the same as it was just a few days ago.
There’s more to do, for sure. I figure there’s at least a month’s worth of opportunity to be out with spring.
We’ll be there.
Wishing you the loveliest of weekends, friends!
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