Spring, they say renews life, reminds us that the end of winter is here. The end of the bleakness, for now.
The promise of fresh starts, new leaves sprouting, nesting birds, barren trees starting to cover themselves in their green mantle.
This spring feels a little more like that for me. The last two years have passed in the sort of uncertainty that I find difficult to explain. Ever since we found out that my mum had a terminal illness with a shocking prognosis, it had felt like winter set in, forever. I’ve always grown plants. My windowsills and balconies never used to be without greens. Until the last two years. I remember I had planted some chilli seeds just before I had the news of my mum’s illness. I just let it go. I didn’t water it, couldn’t bring myself to do anything positive of that nature. Of course it didn’t help that we kept traveling to India, leaving our plants to wither away.
We filled our house with artficial plants to pretend it’s all normal. So much so that a friend even remarked that he would have never thought I would have artificial plants in the house.
And that’s how it was. Until last week when I suddenly wanted to plant. I have my mum’s and dad’s genes in me after all. I couldn’t not plant. I’ve now got containers of cauliflower seedlings. Why cauliflower, don’t ask me, I thought it would be fun. Can’t wait to plant some tomatoes and some cucumber. After a long long time, I’m feeling excited.
Maybe spring is here after all.