Today,
I spent my first extended spring fling pontificating from the green
throne at the top of the hill. The sun was luxurious, the breeze a
gentle caress. A cardinal dropped by and sang his "pretty," "pretty,"
"pretty" chorus for me. Well, no, I don't think he was thinking of me;
self-exaltation was the focus I'm sure. And well-deserved. A few
goldfinch were active in the brambles; it's easy even for me to tell that they are not song sparrows or field sparrows. It's a color thing.
Last week's snow and frost caused some of the daffodils to droop and
some of the hyacinth to begin to fade prematurely. Do not fear. There
are hundreds of more daffodils yet to bloom. And the little ubiquitous
grape hyacinth are starting to join the Iten Acres portrait. And the
violets--you talk about ubiquitous--will be in full glory soon. Oh, I'm
sure there are more frosts to come--this is Ohio. But more beauty to
come as well. To help out a little bit, I planted a few pansies this
afternoon.
I am still trying to calculate the damage done by our
vortex winter. The daffodils and crocus and corydalis seem impervious.
Late, but blooming. The lilies are on their way up--at least the day
lilies. And the phlox as well. The iris are behind schedule, but I'm
hoping they will catch up--a spring without iris blooms would be the end
of the world--close anyway. No blooms on the forsythia yet; perhaps the
vortex got them. Revenge, no doubt, for tipping the humans off about
future snowfalls. The daffodil shrub and at least one lilac appear to be
gone. The same can be said, I think, about a couple of small azaleas.
Some of my Siberian and Japanese iris appear to be either really slow in
coming up--or gone. No sign yet of the water lilies. And, of course,
the hibiscus and rose of Sharon are always the last to show signs of
life--and the witch hazel. For word on those, I can only wait. Anyway, I
am patiently waiting to see how much damage was done by our Arctic
visitor. Too bad it didn't kill the walnut trees.
Ahhhh, the
weather. We have some every day, and there's not much to be done about
it. I guess I"ll just have to sit on my green throne, basking in the
sun, enjoying the lovely gentle breeze, and complain about it to the
Cardinal. I know what his response will be: he'll shed a fake Cardinal
tear and sing, "Pretty, pretty, pretty." And how can an old man argue
with that?
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