Willow Spring

I have curly willow  sprouting on my dining room buffet. 
So I KNOW it must be spring.
Even though outside, snow is blowing in almost white-out conditions, if only for this one hour.

The unselfish gifts of a fellow gardener are much to be treasured.
These branches came from a generous cousin who just happened to have pruners in his back 
pocket. As with all garden plants that have come to me as 'slips', 'cuttings' or 'handfuls', 
every time I look at the growing version in my yard, I'll be reminded of the giver.
What could be better? 

(Except that fellow who gave me pink primrose. He wasn't a friend, 
though, and the plants were for sale, but this is the only plant
 that I've ever really wished I'd never seen.
Makes sense, I guess.)

We have an old fashioned weeping willow in our front yard already, but
it hasn't sprouted any tender leaves - not yet. I'm watching, though,  for those light green, 
tiny leaves that carry so much emotional weight for me. That special tree is a living memorial, 
marking the life and death of one precious hope. The new pearl-like buds of a willow 
returning to life in the spring reassure me that there is New Life to be anticipated by all His 

We need not mourn without hope!

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