Grass Emerges, Trees Bud: A Season of Subtle Beginnings

As I have previously mentioned, the transition from winter to spring here is not a single, dramatic shift but rather a quiet and deliberate unfurling. The land stirs, stretching toward the sun, revealing the first signs of what will soon become a full, vibrant renewal. It is during this time that our native azaleas whisper their promise; offering nothing more than tight buds for now, but within them, the intricate blueprint of a breathtaking spectacle lies waiting.

I find myself drawn to these buds, studying their fractal geometry, where each unfolding piece mirrors the whole, a pattern of nature’s precision. They are beautiful in their own right; not just for what they will become but for what they already are. It’s easy to celebrate azaleas like this Rhododendron austrinum when they explode into color, commanding attention with their bold hues. But right now, in this quiet moment of emergence, they invite a different kind of appreciation: one that notices potential, patience, and the slow artistry of growth.

And they are not alone in this gentle awakening. Beneath last season’s cover of straw, sunshine mimosa (Mimosa strigillosa) begins to stir, its feathery leaves testing the warmth, stretching upward with cautious optimism. Nearby, dog fennel (Eupatorium capillifolium) appears in soft, wispy tufts, their presence so light and ephemeral that they might go unnoticed if not for the keen eye of someone searching for signs of change. Stoke’s aster (Stokesia laevis), too, is pushing forward with fresh green growth; small, determined steps toward the inevitable bloom.

This season is not about grandeur; it is about emergence. It is about the in-between.

There’s something deeply comforting in this phase of the cycle, watching plants return, responding to lengthening days and warming soil. It reminds me that not everything happens all at once, that growth is often unseen before it is undeniable. And perhaps that’s a lesson worth sitting with.

For now, I take in the geometry of promise in the azalea buds, the gentle persistence of the aster, the quiet return of the mimosa. Their time will come, as it always does. But today, I celebrate the start. I celebrate the first whispers of spring carried in the soft push of new green against the remnants of winter.