We could hear it on the wind, faintly, months ago. A green-ness was creeping onto the path, across the view. Yet up on the hill the white cold of snow lingered and then, when we thought we had seen it’s last, it returned with a vengeance. Even now the wind carries a freshness, and yet on the stiller days it has also carried the hum of spring or summer or whatever we can call this time of year. It was so faint to begin with and literally followed the line of the road as first the ground started stretching its verdant muscles and then the trees followed. Fuzzy at first, and then one by one, depending on whether the wind could force them to pause, they opened their leaf filled fists. Only today, towards the end of May, has Billy noticed our big tree is now in full bloom. That is how much further behind we are than even 5 miles down the road. There the azaleas are covered in yellows and pinks, in Meikelour the poppies are spilling over. In London it’s all about “day time drinking and wearing sandals to the office!” And yet here the tulips’ petals are still holding each other closed and some daffs still nod at the sky while we plod around in lined boots.
My latest reading suggests there are only three seasons – a time of growth, a time of balance and then a time of decay. I think here, with the gales snatching the warmth and drying the soil that may be apt. It’s growing, it pauses and then it’s time to hunker down until growth begins once more. The hum of growth, the melody of sunshine and then the quiet of hibernation. We are blessed to be part of it.