I sat quietly on the back deck as the sun was dropping in the evening sky listening to the sounds of life that have been absent since people retreated into the warmth of their homes last November. A scampering squirrel crunching through dry leaves, a cardinal calling to its mate, children playing a game, a drill whirring as someone works on a project and the neighbor talking as he tends to the sap he is boiling down to make maple syrup. A perfect chorus.

I heard someone say earlier in the week how much they hate April – the mud, nights that are still quite chilly and the recent stray dusting of snow. I want to say, “Look around! Can’t you see all of the tiny signs of new life unfolding around us?”

Each tiny sign of growth is salve to my spirit battered by the long, cold, dark winter. I feel the promise of returning life much like the fecundity of the luscious, pregnant colors in a Georgia O’Keefe painting. Maybe it is the heart of a gardener that can look at a bit of green returning to a brown stem against the brown soil and see a plant covered in a riot of blooms while others see brown grass and dirty brown patches of melting snow? I feel like I have enough joy in my heart for everyone.