From my window, I can see several trees. A few weeks ago, they were bare sticks. A few weeks before that, they were coated with snow. But today, they are flush with blossoms: one white, another pale pink, the third a brilliant fuchsia. The grass, once a sickly yellow, is now deep green. Spring has come.
In my garden, flowers have been bursting forth for weeks: first crocus, then daffodils, now tulips, and forget-me-nots, with their delicate blooms nodding in the shady corner of the yard.
I also have herbs and asparagus, which come up every year. I put the first few spears into a salad this week.
Growth, given the right conditions, happens. The flowers that appeared dead all winter respond to the April rains by poking through the soil, coming to life again.
All around us, even here in Chicago, we see growth. The trees have regained their leaves, no longer embarrassingly naked. Flowers come up, and weeds do to. I took my four-year-old nephew to the park the other day, and on the way home he ...1