Spring has knocked on our door early in the morning and louder than usual, pounding with insistence. Get up - get up - get up. We tumble out of bed and grab our slippers and try to piece together what Nature is saying to us. We’re slow to wake but eventually grasp that it is time to put on the coffee and come outside.

I walk to the concrete wall. There’s a vine and a flower, persistent and patient. “It’s a weed,” someone says. “It will grow and grow and you won’t be able to stop it.”

I look at the blue against the brown. It reminds me of growing up, of licking popsicles while barefoot on the grass, of soft words from parents on warm mornings. If all things like Spring would grow and grow with patient persistence, what a rich world we would make. An emboldening thought, the best bud of the new season.

“It’s beautiful,” I say.