Today is April 6th and until this morning, we were preparing for snow.
Last year, buoyed by warm weather in late March, I nagged Tarun until a trip to the nursery. Armed with dozens of plants, we spent a weekend digging, planting, and watering. I called my mom - the über gardener - and rattled off the names of the flowers we had just planted: zenias, daisies, pansies, impatiens, lillies, and salvyias. Incredulously, my mother asked who was calling because the last time she had this conversation with me, I hadn't progressed beyond knowing roses.
And then, a late March frost nearly destroyed my lovely flowers. I have learned not to plant until the weatherperson officially declares an end to winter. Even if that is in June.
As a child I hated being outdoors. The bugs. The rain. The worms. The humidity. None of it pleasing! As luck would have it, I married a man who couldn't stay indoors. And I went on to raise a son who stayed in the car reading a book while we camped in a tent. With a tenacious influencer in Tarun, we've turned into outdoorsy people. Gardening is actually pleasing. Taking pictures of nature is intriguing. And walking and biking in the neighborhood in the spring, summer, and fall have become old habits.
Until warm weather engulfs us, the camera reminds me of what I am eagerly waiting for...
Shades of lattice
Shadows of peace
Blooms to marvel
While the river runs deep
Grey skies above
Cover twisted trees
Skies alit in flames
While the vale stays still
I hope a visit to the nursery is imminent along with beautiful weather. But then again, is it June yet?