Each spring begins almost imperceptibly. Branches that appeared bare only weeks ago now hold the faintest haze of green. Buds form quietly before unfolding all at once. The shift from dormancy to colour happens faster than memory expects. This time of year always feels like a return — not only to the garden, but to a particular kind of attentiveness. Subtle tones reappear: the pale wash of apple blossom, the saturated violet of lupine, the softness of peony petals just beginning to open. Even the broad leaves of hostas introduce a …
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