I walk around the Garden in the unusually warm afternoon. It feels like a summer day as the sun beats down. It feels like the kind of day I’d pick a bowl full of raspberries.
But it’s Winter, no matter what it feels like. The raspberry canes tell the truth: it’s February, and nothing grows yet.
I’m glad to observe the empty, brittle arms that can offer nothing. It’s because I know what’s coming. This great season of rest and quiet inevitably gives way to growth.
I expect nothing from the berries, but I turn to see other gifts one can only see in winter on bare branches:
And I remember to receive what each season offers.