Last weekend, my three-year-old son and I went to the nursery and picked out Johnny-jump-ups in intriguing shades of orange and red violet. We planted them, tucking in two luscious-smelling African blue basil plants as well, in a pair of rather ridiculous Romanesque urns that came with our new house last year. We'd never have chosen anything so pretentious, but they're just right for frivolities like miniature pansies.

This was my first gardening since moving in a year ago. There's been so much to do inside that I hadn't wanted to get distracted by outside tasks. But life goes by so fast -- I realized we need some flowers to stop and smell. Besides, it makes the bunnies so happy when there are flowers. We live in the country, and in the spring there are always lots of little brown cottontails to amuse. And newts, but I digress.

Just this morning, I noticed that overnight, the flowering cherry outside our bathroom window has burst into popcorn-like bloom. The window in question is a big, greenhouse-style affair located next to our Japanese soaking tub; the view from there is glorious. If I get home in daylight, guess where I'm going to enjoy a glass of chilled chardonnay...oh, and the tree frogs have started singing in the back yard! So I'll have music too. Perfection.

Claire