The Snowdrops


Morning dawned cold and quiet in the garden, but it was finally, blissfully not-gray.


After so many unrelentingly dreary days, the pale almost-spring sunshine peeked softly through windows, calling everyone to come outside, where drifts of snowdrops had both sprouted and bloomed, seemingly overnight, under the leafless trees.


This called for a picnic, of course, so everyone wound long knitted scarves around their necks, pulled hats on, grabbed mittens, and headed out into the chilly morning with sandwiches and cake wrapped in wax paper, and thermoses full of hot coffee.


(February 2022)


Story © Jennifer Singleton / Read+Purr
This is another vignette in my ongoing series of Tiny Garden Stories: peaceful 1-minute tales, full of cozy vibes, delicious details, and generous dollops of imagination & whimsy. Click one of the first two buttons below to go to (or back to, if that’s where you fell down the rabbit hole) either the Public Garden archive page or (if you’re a Story Club member) to the Private Garden page. Or click the third button to learn more about my Tiny Garden Stories. Want each week’s featured story delivered directly to your inbox? Subscribe to my Substack. 


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