I love Sundays. Especially Sundays in spring. Nothing is better than stepping out into my garden with a cup of coffee in the morning, lounging on the canoped swing in my pajamas, and taking count of the flowers returning since I last saw them in the fall. My Clematis is going to be an explosion of purple on my back fence, and a small transplanted pink rose bush that hasn't flowered in two years is covered with tiny buds.The weeds are taller than usual too this year, so I slip on some flip flops and start pulling the dandilions before my daughter sees them and decides to blow wishes all over the yard. (She calls them wish fairy blossoms. Need I say more?) After pulling a few of the bigger weeds, I saunter back over to the swing and the shade for another pull of my coffee and an easy sigh at the beauty around me. "What a great day", I think contently as I stick my toes out into a patch of warm sunlight and take in the green of the surrounding hills. It is a Sunday among nature in my small backyard, when all feels right in the world and you know, without a doubt, that it is good.
God, I love Sunday mornings in spring.