We wake to sunshine and patches of light snow. The air is cold and my children and I wear our winter coats on the walk to school. The sun feels nice, though. It feels like we’re seeing it for the first time in months.
After I drop my children off, I go to the backyard. The ground is hard, the mud frozen and dusted with snow. My flower pots from the back steps are scattered, my nine-month-old puppy, Remy having knocked them off. Some pots are empty, the soil now in the yard. If only Remy had emptied them in the hole he dug near my garden.
I suspect the peony that I recently planted has been pulled out of the ground by Remy. The irises along the garage are starting to show signs of life and I know I must put a fence around them soon before they too are destroyed.
Everything feels brown and gray and gross but I remind myself that the crocuses have started blooming. The neighbor’s yard is carpeted in snow drops and my daffodils are slowly poking through the earth. The sun is stronger and each day there is a little more light. Soon the brown will turn to green, the empty garden beds to flowers, the bees going from stem to stem.