I woke up this morning in a despondent haze over the election results. Not knowing what else to do, I took a walk through my garden, since a garden at this time of year is all about devastation.

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As my feet crunched through the multi-hued blanket of dry leaves, I saw what the recent freezes had done: unripe tomatoes drooping from withered vines, the twisted remains of pepper plants, the nearly bare trees pointing into the grey skies. And this is before the New England winter hits us with its full fury, before the blanket of snow and subzero temperatures put an end to any survivors not strong enough to endure the punishment.

But then, in one bed, I see a few leaves pushed aside, small shoots of hardneck garlic pushing towards the sun:

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And then the most hopeful and unexpected: saffron crocus blossoms:

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I thought I did something wrong, I expected blooms much earlier, and had already added this to my long list of gardening failures. But there they were, slowly gathering energy in their bulbs for next year.

Just like the garden, all of us Americans will need to brace ourselves for a long, hard winter. It will be devastating, but there will be a spring.