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The day when spring showed up.
There is a beautiful peacefulness that is extending across the garden as I look out the kitchen window. It is early and sleep still crowds my eye as I stand, tea in hand, wondering what the day will bring. For a moment it hints at many possibilities as birds chirp in the garden, like me perhaps they planning their day. I am sure we are both grateful for the sun. A small dog stands nearby, looks expectantly at me for a crumb of toast. The mood breaks as I hear draws open in the bedroom, clothes are hunted for and the shower is run. My mind jumps to the to do list, the bees need feeding, the dogs need training, the bread needs to be collected from the bakery and then if there is time left, gardening. I have seeds to prick out into bigger pots and the bigger pots of things that have been hardening in the garden need to be planted and then and then if I have time I hope I can curl up somewhere in the sun and read, even if it is for just a few minutes.
I plant as many things as I can. I tidy beds as I go planting Larkspurs which I grew from last seasons seed, who are desperate to leave their pots. Cornflowers which I plant out in a clump. Geraniums that I divided before winter and white verbascum. I move the white agastache to sit in new bed along with the two that I have grown from seed. I will add the bronze dahlias to the bed later. It sounds like a weird colour combo, bronze, white and green but it works in my eyes. I move other pots to flower beds which I will return to plant another day. They need more time than I am willing to give, it has already been an hour or two and lunch is calling, or so my belly tells me so. I look around the garden and see things that need pruning, weeds need removing. I sigh there is always tomorrow.
The hive is active and the smell of the honey and wax drifts across the garden mixing with the multi colour collection of hyacinth I brought and plant only to recapture a memory. I remember then as forced bulbs on Nana’s kitchen bench the last time I was in her house. The dogs are in the garden. One at the gate, quietly watching people walk past, little eyes peering through the gaps in the fence unbeknown to those on the other side. It is hot, the garden is peaceful and as I head inside, thinking I have done enough for today, I hear a Tui call in the distance. I wash my hands of the dirt that is the reminder of the work I have done, do a head count of dogs and we all settle in enjoying the quiet slumber of the afternoon.
It is 5pm and we are resuming our tradition of a gin and a board game, along with crisps that the dogs eagerly spy. They hear the twist of a tonic to accompany a gin and know that it is time for crisps. It is warm enough, the sun is still strong, to head out to the garden. I sweep the table of soil left over from my earlier garden work. I sit and the sun warms my back, it feels like an age since I had sat with it like this. The cobwebs of winter start to leave and spirit returns. We drink our gin, talk, play our game and savour the moment. Hopefully the first of many evenings like this. The sun is moving fast still and it heads behind the horizon just as we pack up our things to head inside. Perfectly timed.