Garden Sprites

It's been a long, cold Spring in Ontario. The seedlings on our windowsill are getting a little too big for their britches, but their protective midwife and mother will not let them out to play until I see the sun for more than seconds a day.

Outside, however, the plants are up as bold and brash as ever. My two little sprites went out at bedtime to take a quick peek:

Violet shows her little sister what "viowets wook wike".

They admire the dainty blue of the first forget-me-nots,

and the bossy red of the tulips.

Sweet wee hands cup this bloom so tenderly, inviting me to take a sniff: "They smeh-oo wike ice cweam!"

Blessed garden sprites. With their trampling boots, and hands that can't resist plucking each flower as it blooms, my garden has never been so beautiful.