March has been busy blowing herself right out of our lives the past couple days. I imagine April close behind, pushing, nudging, maybe sighing as she tries to take her place in the spotlight, March digging in her heels and leaving scuff marks on the stage. No one in the Midwest is sad to see the end of March, and we delight to greet April, that understated, delicate being who always remembers to bring flowers with her. March was still a lion yesterday, gusting and raining and snowing all at once. Perhaps April is our lamb.

I find myself wondering if it is too late to start seeds inside. I’m thrilled to pieces that the leaves are already off the garden and that there is so little to do in the yard now in the early spring. I used to get this manic feeling this time of year, writing up lists of all the things I needed to get done outside before it got too late in the spring. But now, everything’s done. I’m excited to see how my expanded shade garden fills in this year. I anxiously await the first opening buds on my baby redbud tree, hoping it has weathered the very cold winter. I don’t know how many more summers we will have in this house, so I intend to consciously enjoy this one. That will likely translate to lots of pictures of the gardens, so I hope you’ll indulge me when I share them here.

At this moment my yard is swiftly switching between bright and dim, the long shadows cast by tall maple trees and dead ash trees blinking on and off as air currents far above send the clouds skittering across the sky. Across the ground, last year’s crispy brown leaves take a similar trip, bouncing and swirling about like scattering rabbits. There’s hardly a thing out there worth a photo. But there is rain and some warmth in the forecast — just what those dormant roots in the garden have been waiting for.