Spring is definitely here. I know, because not only is the birdbath still regularly frozen over, it’s also occasionally glittering in sunshine and thawing. There’s that, and the fact that the bottom garden is transformed.
One minute there aren’t any crocuses at all, and the next minute it’s difficult to walk in that direction without doing serious damage. They’ve spread under the hydrangea (that’s it, it’s definitely coming out), over two lawns, up the side of the path:
and they change. In some light they appear almost blue or a reddish imperial purple,
in others they are lavender or a more conventional, coloured pencil purple. I don’t care; they are beautiful whatever the conditions. But they really, really come into their own in sunlight,
and we’ve been lucky enough to have had some of that rare commodity recently.
The tree is an old cherry, and unfortunately its days are numbered. Cherries aren’t particularly long-lived anyway, and this one has already needed surgery, but I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it hangs on a little longer as it is such a good foil for the crocuses. Not that they really need it, mind:
I suppose one of the reasons I love these so much is that they’re really a transitory pleasure – they’re at their spectacular best for a short period of time, a couple of weeks if I’m lucky. And this year they are the best that I can remember. So I make no apologies for a swift succession of crocus glamour shots.
The dragons (or foxes) which have been excavating the bed further up have shown no interest in digging here at all, even though it is perilously close to their preferred site, which is another bonus… That’s probably just as well, because if they did I’d have to start looking for dragon traps. Nothing interferes with the crocuses. And there’s another enjoyable and traditional sign of spring: P tiptoeing delicately through them in his boots…