…I’d tell you that things are growing here. My daughter went off to the fair with her friends last night, popped over to say “‘Bye” to us, and then went back to them, and pizza and sleepover. It’s great, but it’s also the beginning of the “‘Bye”s.
The vegetable patch is cleared and we have started planting. I have trays of seedlings in the porch, all fresh and green and tender, waiting to be planted. Over the last couple of weeks the trees have changed, from bare branches with a faint green haze over them to bundles of leaves with a hint of branch and twig beneath them. Soon they will be all leaf. There are blossoms on the pear tree and the plum trees. The quince tree has masses of buds and one lone, soft pink flower. The crab apple has dark pink buds swelling fit to burst. There are sweet scented lilac flowers in the hedge, and the banks are purpled with bluebells.
My husband has cleaned up his bike, ready for some dry weather. The windows need washing. I hung clothes out on the line yesterday, and brought them in smelling of good, clean air. We are living in a state of optimism, hoping for a barbecue summer.
I’d go back to telling you about my daughter. She hung washing out yesterday, without being asked. She washed up for guests last weekend. She’s growing up: up and away, but she will always be my little girl.Of course she will. That’s the deal. She’s growing like the fruit trees are budding, like the peas are shooting up, like the oak tree is putting out leaves. I’m looking forward to the blossoms, and then the fruit.
And then I’d pull myself up, because this is a bit deep for a Sunday morning. I’d offer you toast, with my neighbour’s excellent apricot jam. And then I’d pour you another cup of coffee to take out to the garden, because it’s spring, and everything is growing.