I delight in the differences that often come with a season from year to year. This year the Pulmonaria in the garden is everywhere, though I’ve never planted a single one, and in the woods I’ve never seen such stands of the lovely ephemeral, Spring Beauty. I suspect the causes of such differences are a combination of complex, interrelated variables—moisture, winter temperatures, and sunlight, among others—but I’m much more happy to simply accept these variations and enjoy them.
I wonder what can I learn from the flowers that speaks to other “seasons” of my life?