Outside, nothing has sprouted – nothing will sprout for weeks, but inside the brighter sun is enough to coax new leaves from our long-dormant geraniums. I brush them with my hand to release their sharp perfume – a first bite of spring.
Wheatgrass, too. When cut with scissors, it sighs pure youth. The amaryllis I saved from near-death last year (my own fault) has sprouted beautiful, broad blades of green, but shows no signs of blooming. And yes, our first timid tomato sprouts have stretched, thin and pale, from their potted beds, but who knows if they will last.