Mid-February. It is cold and icy today, but rays of sun break through and the days grow longer. I walk the frozen grounds and check the gardens. The golden stalks rise above the snow: signs of last year's marshmallow, angelica, bee balm. Circling the greenhouse, my heart rises with the thought: "soon, I plant seeds."
I make charts and graphs and plan for this years garden—considering rotation and companions. The calendar dictates who's planted first—and marked well so I know who's who as they are beginning to sprout (or not). March is not far away...and the soils will welcome the seeds.
Every year...the planning, planting, rising, gathering, fading and turning in. Every year, the wheel of the year. Until I no longer walk, in this form, on this earth as I know this.