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| My old January friends. |
Many years ago, under the mature trees on an old farm property, I stood and looked at naturalized banks of daffodils and snowdrops. As I looked, I wondered who planted the bulbs, and where, since the property was deserted, they might be living, and if their thoughts were drawn back each spring to bulbs they once planted that so beautifully painted the landscape that lay before me.
At that time, I was sorry that I didn't have a camera with me. But a camera was not necessary because, even now, I can easily recall the field where bits of snow reluctantly wept in the dark shadows. And I can still feel the cold, soggy earth beneath my boots, the weak sun giving off a bit of warmth in sheltered places, and the intermittent breeze that turned the heads of the daffodils.
We are, happily, in the throes of a January thaw. I am pleased about that, but it does make me long for spring.
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| An antique linen in need of TL, and a thoroughly admired book of Garden Quotations given to me by my garden pal, Joan. |
A garden planted with love will always bloom.
