Internal Clock

We drive by our community garden plot every day on our way to school. I've developed a sharp enough eye that during the growing season I can usually tell if there is a need to stop sooner rather than later to harvest, cut, gather, water, or weed. In the winter, though, I sail by barely noticing even if the lid of the small potting bench has blown open; I've learned that the winds will shift and slam it shut again.

This year it's been a cold spring, and we had not been to the garden even once to check on the persistent covering of weeds when late last week, perhaps from reflex, my head turned and my eyes were filled with a wee purple haze blossoming from the far side of the plot. It wasn't until Sunday that we actually stopped to investigate. As discouraging as the unwanted blanket of vetch, false chrysanthemum, and clover was, the peonies were sprouting strong, the blackberries are spreading faithfully and well, and that lovely cloud of periwinkle? It was some fragrant phlox that I put in last year and promptly forgot.

It's time to get to it.