At the threshold of March, the landscaping crew arrived—quiet stewards of renewal—tending to the roses with careful hands, lifting away the remnants winter had left behind in the garden beds. What had gathered in stillness and cold was, in a matter of hours, gently cleared away. I found myself deeply grateful for those young workers who restored order and readiness, as if preparing the earth itself to welcome spring once more.

Soon, another company will come to anoint the trees and shrubs—guarding them against the unseen threats of insects and disease, and giving special care to the roses, which so deeply need it.

As for me, I lingered in the smaller tasks: cleansing the fountains and birdbath, pulling stubborn weeds, gathering the quiet traces left behind. And in the morning light, something sacred unfolds—the sun pours down new mercies, and the sky, reflected in the clear water, seems to dance with joy.

There is still a bit left for my hands to do—old pots and garden ornaments waiting to be renewed with fresh paint, small touches of beauty yet to be restored. I’ve also reached out to a company to transform that far corner beneath the tree, where time has quietly settled. They will lay new slabs and gently remove the old vegetable garden—no longer a place of harvest, but a little box visited more often by wandering cats than by seeds.

In its place, a new beginning: two standing garden boxes, chosen with hope from Costco, waiting to be assembled. We plan to build them once the city water begins to flow again and the porch is washed clean—because that is where they will now rest, lifted into the light, ready for new life to grow.

 

Spring is around the corner

Things are changing quickly around here. The sun has begun to warm the land with new strength, and spring is quietly peeking into the garden. Mourning doves fly everywhere, as if they already know that the season of love is near. Some of them have begun building their nests among the thorny branches of the Eden rose.

This year we had a landscaping company come to do the spring cleaning in the garden. Now that I’m retired, you might say I have all the time in the world to do it myself—but I’m not the same girl I was ten years ago. The work has become too exhausting, so I let them accomplish in a couple of hours what might have taken me weeks. I’m very pleased with that decision.

Now the only things left for me are the gentler tasks: pulling a few weeds, gathering the debris they left behind, and tending to the perennials.

The garden is already looking so much better. Narcissus and tulips have popped up everywhere, and soon a soft carpet of white flowers will spread across part of the garden, because the candytuft has grown so much that it now covers a large stretch of the west side.

Next will come the penstemon, lupine, balsamroot, and some of the sedums and asters—each one taking its turn, as the garden slowly wakes again. 🌿🌷

I love the moment in the afternoon, around two o’clock, when the sun is high in the sky and its light falls straight down into my room—right where my computer sits among my plants.

For a little while, everything feels warm and alive. The leaves glow in the sunlight, shadows soften across the desk, and the whole room seems to breathe with quiet life. It’s one of those small, simple moments that make an ordinary day feel peaceful and full of grace. 🌿☀️

“See! The winter is past;

the rains are over and gone.

Flowers appear on the earth;

the season of singing has come.” (Song of Songs 2:11,12)

“See, I am doing a new thing!

Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?

I am making a way in the wilderness

and streams in the wasteland.” (Isaiah 43:19)

Spring Is Near

The long winter loosens its grip,

and quiet signs begin to appear—

a softer wind,

a brighter sky,

a small green whisper in the soil.

What once seemed asleep

was only waiting.

God writes His promises

in the language of seasons:

after the cold, warmth;

after the silence, song;

after the night, morning.

And just beyond the last frost of sorrow,

hope is already

pushing through the earth. 🌱