Author: Nan Jones

Daylilies and irises burst through the crusty earth, long before the threat of frost had passed. Grass took on the color of emeralds. Buds on the old apple tree began to unfurl like crisp white linen. But the grapevine lay dormant. Waiting. Content to rest until its appointed time. I watched it morning by morning wondering when its tiny buds would appear.

An early spring cool snap crossed the mountain. Some of the iris fronds tinged brown. I held my breath for the tender apple blossoms, wondering if they could survive the chill. Their sweet fruit would be in danger if frost crowned the cool air.