Look Who’s Here
The sap is rising. My plants, squeezed within an inch of their lives by the icy hand of winter less than two weeks ago, are coming back. Lengthening days are pushing the chill hours of night toward the outer boundaries. Warmed by the sun and breezes from the south there are buds and new growth all around. I do believe there will be fresh leaves on the oaks by weeks end, and we may even see a bluebonnet or two along with a peach bloom.
I have to confess it was several days back when I was less than enthused about what sort of track we might be seeing this spring. After all, the ice turned our lavender black, and frosted the tips of the tiny agave, and made me think we’d never say, “Hurray, its spring.” But it turns out I needn’t have worried. Bluebonnets have seen worse, I’m sure, as have the oaks, and the hollies. Even Pharaby’s rose, embraced as it is on four sides by the house, an orchid tree, a holly, and an oak is defying its horticultural nature and bringing forth new leaves. Here’s to deep roots, thick trunks, and shelter.
I do believe we’ll have spring. Good. I need it. The interlude between winter and spring reminds me of those times we threw parties and were always relieved when the first guest showed up, as if there was any doubt. Although, there was one New Year’s Eve when only one person came, but that’s another story. There was still at least a knock on the door, and a bud appeared and while it wasn’t a riotous explosion it was still a flower, a person standing there wanting to see us. And that’s how I feel when my flowers come back, one or a million, happy they came for me.