Signs of Spring.

I rushed into marriage.

If we had lived together beforehand it would never have lasted. Before we met he had never put a seed into the ground, or felt the earth on his hands. He had never gathered food brought about as a direct result of his labours. 
That changed when we moved in together. Now, while he’s quite happy to let me do the gardening and the gathering, I think he understands the peace I find in the quiet of the garden. Maybe he needs to revisit it too. 

The signs of spring are all around me. My stocks of verjuice from the summer are nearly exhausted, but the grapevine will soon be laden with more. I’ll share a few with the spotted bower birds and turn the rest into verjuice to remind me of summer in the depths of winter. 
I am thankful.

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