It’s Spring in the south.

The azaleas have already bloomed through their first cycle. Giant hanging ferns are taking their place back on the front porch.

I’m pruning today.

The skies are not sunny and cloud strewn, as is more common than not this time of year.

Instead, it’s overcast. Windy. It reminds me more of fall, with the cool breeze tossing the leaves around in the yard.

The grey sky suits me. I’m intent on getting this done.

Last years growth is 6′-9′ per branch, but the branches are easily lopped off with a quick snap of the clippers.

These branches would be in the way of new growth. Tiny little buds would amount to nothing, and windy days would fling the long strands of branches around like whips.

I carefully leave a little more branch stub than last year. Last years true growth may only be a couple of inches, but new and vibrant branches, full of blooms, will shoot forth in no time.

Twelve years ago the trees were stubby, hugging the fence.

Now they are tall and wider of trunk, showing growth that has been carefully trimmed back and monitored every year.

Left alone, the crepe myrtles would have branches in every direction, out of control, choking out anything nearby.

By the armful, I load branches onto the trailer to go to the landfill. Soon they will be turned into compost.

One last glance at the ten trees standing over the fence, ready for the sun to return and start them to bud.

Today, though, I’m content with the grey skies.

I’m getting things in order.

Out to the front yard I go.