I stepped out the door this morning into the dark and cold but the air smelled of flowers and the mockingbird sang his riotous song of love.
Harbingers of spring.
I spent yesterday planting out flowerbeds and window boxes, clearing out the weeds inspired by the winter rains. You can't actually tell that the back garden was thoroughly cleaned out before the fall.
Unlike today's cold wind and fog and passing clouds, yesterday was clear and warm, low 60sF, but very sunny. In the kitchen window box, I planted basil, variegated peppermint, variegated sage and three strawberry starts. The strawberries like the window box and went wild there last year until a well-meaning neighbor smashed my drip system while we were away. Drip system has since been replaced and strawberries restarted.
In the other two window boxes, I planted pansies, a good choice for this time of year. I like their little faces, and I particularly like the old-fashioned colors of this variety: mauve, copper, burgundy. I planted more in the front beds, along with gerberas, ranunculus, impatiens, and Iceland poppy. I planted out pots with English daisy, nemesia and lobelia, and a hanging pot with sunset-colored million bells and lobelia. Already, things look more cheerful, more welcoming.
Go listen to some good music: "The Rite of Spring," composed by Igor Stravinsky. Such interesting music, and the story the ballet tells is not what you'd expect. In much the same way, a small story of planting flowers tells absolutely nothing about how I'm really feeling at the moment. But that's a good thing, I think.