Everywhere we look, spring is springing. From the first leaves of the newly-planted fig tree, discovered first by a small spider who’s already using it for a web, to the buds on “Lady Banks,” an old rose treasure that came with the property. (She will be moved slightly closer to the Parthadon after she blooms so that she can be properly wrapped around the porch post and scramble up to the roof.)
The trees are looking especially glorious in the glow of early morning and late evening, their barely-there new leaves aglow amid the sculptural outlines of twigs and branches that will soon be obscured. It’s their lacy moment.