Yesterday, it had been weeks since I really paid any attention to the front yard. The Christmas decorations had come and gone, and the garden had fallen into that state of entropy that is subliminal but real. It looked sad, shabby, neglected. So I spent a few hours picking up stray bits of litter. raking the junipers, sweeping the sidewalks and stone—just generally sprucing up. After a while, I noticed little white dots dancing in the air: the season’s first real snow. Gradually, gradually, their numbers accelerated. I stopped my work, and stared out, transfixed.
This is why I garden.