The sweet smell of lilac in full bloom hit me long before I touched the cold metal of the gate. The morning was chilly despite the sun’s warmth. A breeze lifted my hair and rustled the branches. I released the latch. The garden was still loved, but plainly far too much work for aging hands. The green burst of spring had consumed the bare spaces left by winter die-back. I put down my basket of tools and laid the blanket near the wildest part. Gathering my well-worn skirt to one side, I settled myself, surveying the smaller world.