I put it off, knowing a day or two (or three) delay wouldn’t change what needed to be done.  Finally, today, I grabbed loppers and pruners and doused myself with bug repellant and headed out into the garden to tackle the row of lilacs and the branches damaged by winter’s last hurrah.

By the end of an hour, the sky was threatening rain that never materialized despite a very sparse sprinkle.  But, at that point, the weather didn’t really matter since my arms and my back were both telling me I’d lopped enough branches and young, volunteer lilacs for one day.  The garden cart was overflowing with browns and greens for the compost pile, and I felt more than ready for a shower and a tall glass of iced tea.

Tomorrow morning, I’ll moan and groan as I pull myself out of bed and upright.  I’ll grab a couple of aspirin and gaze out the window at my garden.  The daffodils are in bloom and, even if the skies are gray, their sunny yellow colors will brighten the day.  It’s a sight that never fails to make me smile.  It also will remind me why I don’t really mind the temporary aches from overdoing it a bit while cleaning up the garden.