As the air turns crisp and the pace of life begins to slow, we find ourselves in that familiar in between, a season of gathering and letting go.

Before the bloom, there’s the burying. The quiet work, the unseen hours, the effort that unfolds far from applause.

Before the bloom, there’s the burying. The quiet work, the unseen hours, the effort that unfolds far from applause.

“Tacoma, Spring is here.”