I think pruning is cathartic. Or it may be just a need to assign more meaning to something which requires dedicated attention and a long amount of time. I’m not sure really. I would just say that there is something about cutting off what has gone before, and leaving behind the hope and promise of the new season. At least that’s what I think I’ve left behind. I have to admit there are some vines and fruit trees which have had their hope and promise lopped off as well. It’s just that when I get going it’s sort of hard to stop.

The ‘Vine Tender’ in the pruning zone.

Fortunately there is very little time to be sentimental as the pressure of the coming season; a bulb rising here, a blossom falling there, keeps me moving forward.

My youngest child started school last week. I feel like I’ve prepared him well, but I’m not sure really. There’s definitely plenty of hope and promise for his new season. I’m not sure who cut the last apron string, him or me. There was no moment for contemplating who held the scissors, just the invisible hand of time, moving us both forward.