The daffodils are in bloom, and the spiderwort I planted last year
– the spiderwort I thought was dead – has miraculously sprouted
again. And with that, my hope for all of my garden has re-sprouted
again, too… but it’s still a delicate, fragile thing, my hope. Each
seedling I see sends it soaring. Each deer-clipped stem cuts it
back down. I try to stay grounded, literally, looking at the soil,
thinking about worms, but then I see another sprout and I’m lost.