Susan and I take walks around our neighborhood park before breakfast. It’s a wonderful opportunity to appreciate the seasons, especially spring. At this time of year, the warming sun is just appearing over the trees as we round the first bend.

“Believing that spring will come is an act of trust,” says Susan as we pass some early blossoms. “Even after the harshest winter, when you wonder whether anything can still be alive, you can always count on spring.”

A scheduled work trip was canceled, so last week we had unexpected time to give attention to our garden. We planted a dogwood, a cedar, and some mountain laurels in the gully that borders our half-acre yard. I gave the grass its first cut of the season. A camellia is in full bloom and the periwinkle looks perky. Two pairs of cardinals are enjoying our bird feeder and a phoebe is exploring potential nesting spots under the eaves. Yesterday, an unexpected snow shower left a white dusting, but it was gone by noon.

It’s remarkable to think that year after year, century after century, seasons come and go with relatively little change. Our human activities seem puny by comparison.

We watch in awe and with a feeling of utter helplessness the overwhelming, relentless power of nature devastating Japan with earthquake and tsunami. Our hearts go out to the thousands of people whose homes have been destroyed and whose families have been so cruelly torn apart.

But even in Sendai, spring will come.