The cold and blustery wind contrasts with the bird songs that fill the air. It is winter’s last stand. The cold wind seems to sigh, “Remember Christmas?”, while nature inevitably moves toward Easter. I brave the chill and plant our first onion bulbs at dusk, tucking them into rich composted soil beneath cold frames. The peas we seeded indoors are sprouting and ready to go outside. Pulling out last year’s weeds, turning the soil, turning up my collar against the wind, adding compost made of leaves and grass and vegetable parts; it all begins anew. Resurrection.
We wait. We sow. We wait. They grow. We wait. We harvest. We eat. We live.