With each sign of Spring there seems to be a not so subtle reminder that the seasons, at least in New York, clash a little before one takes the baton from the other. As I watch the daffodils pop up in front of houses up and down the avenue—mildly obsessed with  their strength and form—I realize I am never quite prepared for Spring. Embracing the cold days that hang on to our extremities year in and year out, I find myself wishing I had planned the year before with all sorts of early indicators that Spring has sprung. Crocus, snowdrops, and the daffodils I grew fond of years ago, I am lucky to find what I do appearing in my garden, not always sure how they got there.—Dominick
