It's raining in Seattle this morning.
When I was little, we lived on the Mojave Desert. Nearly every day, I'd go stand on the playground tarmac during recess, tilt my head looking up at the cloudless blue sky and say, "When I grow up, I'm going to live some place it rains every day."
I love Seattle.
I love the way it smells when the air is misty with rain. I love the way it feels when the rain falls in big fat drops. I love the way it sounds on the wooden ceiling of my mid-century house. I love my moss-coated garden art. I love the gentle climate that allows even a garden innocent like me to jette and pirouette around the beds.
Spring is a heady time when the 80# of King Alfred daffodils I planted last fall are optimistically peeking out from their winter slumber. When my husband died in 1996, I really needed to do hopeful things. I found that in planting bulbs. Now, going to the nursery is my hopeful fall ritual. Planting bulbs in the fall shows faith in the future. And, when they come up in spring starting with crocus, I feel profoundly happy. It's a simple thing really ~ but utterly lovely. It gives me a glimpse of what it must feel like to be Vita Sackville-West ~ with a lot less experience, fewer staff and smaller grounds. I live in paradise.I love knowing I have bunnies in my garden.
Sweet.
Spring must be just around the corner.
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