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Many Marches ago, as I mindlessly contorted myself to pull a deep-rooted weed from the garden patch, my thoughts turned longingly to the smell of fresh basil that would eventually grace what I saw as a still-barren vegetable graveyard. This spot was not so lifeless as it appeared, I would soon learn...
Fading yellow leaves fall from tulip trees, settling as quietly as a whisper into piles of gold among the ferns. A catbird calls from a walnut branch, warning competitors away from the pokeberries. A flock of pine siskins descends to the pond, chattering softly as they sip. Young green frogs dive...