sidewalk blooms

Spring arrives in small ways on our block. In the shift of light across the brownstone steps, in the quiet return of hands in soil. Everyone has their own rhythm, a sweep of the stoop, a new bloom tucked in. It's subtle, but it’s there.

This season, I updated the planter boxes out front: fuchsia hanging plants for movement and color, lavender for calm, and low juniper blue shrubs to hold it all together. Nothing too showy, just enough to make the space feel considered, alive.

It’s become a ritual. Early morning, before the day pulls me elsewhere. I water. I clip. I sweep. Across the street, someone is doing the same. There’s a quiet pride in it, this shared care, this way of saying we’re here.

Our block comes into bloom slowly. Each planter a reflection of the person behind the door. A neighbor down the way always plants marigolds. Another keeps theirs spare, just ivy and a small lantern. We don’t match, but we belong together.

There’s something grounding in the routine of it. In choosing color. In placing things just so. It’s beauty made with your hands. Beauty you can return to.

This is how the season begins, with care. With attention.

-L