By the third week of February, the light begins to suggest a change that the ground refuses to confirm. On the North Shore, snow still presses heavily against the garden beds. Shrubs remain sealed. The soil is firm, unwilling to be disturbed. And yet the impulse arrives. This is the week when we begin to feel the garden in our hands again. The urge to prune. To clear. To step outside and declare the season open. Instead of cutting branches that are still frozen, we sharpened blades indoors. We wiped down handles. We oiled hinges. Tools prepared for work that has not yet begun. Holding back the urge to begin is not suppression. It is respect. The garden does not respond to eagerness. It responds to temperature, thaw, and timing. No amount of desire can advance the season. The discipline lies in recognizing that readiness and action are not the same.