The S-Season

A welcome Sun flirts with Portland these last few weeks (the South Sound too, according to Mom). I’m reluctant to call it the S-season or anything close to the S-season. The Sun might punish me.
Nonetheless, I find myself cleaning, whether I’ll call it S-season cleaning or not. And I find myself watching the dirt for growth, whether I’ll call it S-season growth or not.
Yesterday, I made my first trip of the year to the nursery, the earliest I’ve visited any S-season. I picked up three-each of Daffodils, Tulips and Narcissus. I spent a little piece of the afternoon cleaning up my container garden. Saying a long goodbye to the giant geraniums I didn’t manage to save. And planting these lovely little plants.
Planting is an act of hope. I find myself gauging whether I could withstand the loss should another frost come and take my premature hope away. Brave comes in small pieces. Maybe this is all the Brave I can take at the moment.
The wind blew the Sun away today, at least for today. But there are my little plants. Slowly telling me the S-season will come.