A potted rose geranium lives on my back stoop. Surprisingly.

I didn’t expect it to make it through the winter; in fact, I didn’t expect it to make it through last summer. It’s tall and lanky, gangling about the corner of the brick wall. The leaves waited until August to begin growing less than 4 inches apart. I let it shiver in drought throughout the winter.

But yesterday afternoon, I noticed that each branch wears a tiara of soft green buds… and a few blossoms are beginning to peek through their capes of green.

I smile, for nature’s resilience and the ever-flowing cycle of the seasons.

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