I was looking over some photos from late last summer.  Never a great idea this time of year, when you're sowing tiny seeds that it almost seems impossible will ever sprout...


...much less turn into these in a few weeks' time...


Right now any little sign of life is exciting...


It's hard to imagine that in a couple of months you'll be cursing the heat and hacking it all back...

That was then.  This is now...


Then:


Now:


Don't get me wrong.  This isn't about whether or not it's worth the wait.  I was just thinking about how our expectations literally change with the seasons.  How close you have to examine the earth this time of year for a sprout, and how thrilling it is when you see them poking up here and there.  As the poet Tu Fu said:

... After the war-fires of three months,
One message from home is worth a ton of gold.

It was a brutal winter.  The last of my storied fourth decade.  Every autumn you hang it up, a little wiser, and ready for rest.  Every spring you start over, a little more foolish, but eager to work.