Spring came back.The third spring since the Remembering and the first spring of the full connection and it arrived the way it always arrived, without asking permission, the particular insistence of a season that knew what it was for and did it regardless of whether anyone was ready.The crocuses came up in the same places.Of course they did.The ground remembered.The violet against the north wall produced its first bud of the season on a Tuesday morning in April and Anya documented it with the careful attention she had brought to every stage of its existence since January of the previous year.Third spring, she wrote in the garden journal she had started keeping.The violet returns.She showed it to me over breakfast.Her handwriting had matured over the year in the particular way that ten-year-old handwriting matured into eleven-year-old handwriting, more confident, more itself.She was eleven now.She had grown two inches and had developed opinions about several things that had n
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