Yesterday morning I walked outside to find life of spring had sprung in my rock garden. No rocks in this garden, but it’s just what my grandmother had called it all those years ago, so it’s remained as such.
Unearthed leaves of last fall that hadn’t been bagged in time before the snow blanketed them in its wintery wonder. It’s ok though, those leaves were used as insulation for the long cold winter.
Peeking from beneath the leaves, the first spring crocus. Yellow and bright, catching a glimmer of the midday sun on its open petals.
Dark ominous clouds hovered in the evening sky.
Birds chirping in a hectic manner, and raindrops falling feverously to the ground below.