Spring color

 The tiny harbinger flowers, so delicate – but surprisingly decorated.  Snowdrops are like this too, but white with a delicate stroke of green.  They’d be gaudy if they were any larger, eh? 

Years ago – no.  Decades ago, we planted these tulips at the edge of the thicket.  Now they are in the thick of it, still going.  Still spreading, oh, so slowly.

Most of the old tulips are long gone.  As old as Murphy, this one may be.

I used to think these were boring—too many of ’em too quickly.  But a closer look is almost batik-like, and the blue deepens in gradient.

Sometimes you can’t really get to the heart of things till you get to the heart of things.

May.  It pours into the yard from the south, then the north, the the southwest.  It coaxes the yellow bits out of the butter and eggs, festoons the trees with leaves, buries the feet of the bridge in green and invites the sun to stain the air with life.

Our yard is wild.  Wilder than it used to be before we took on the acre and a half of pasture.  Wilder than Guy would like.  But I love the deep yellow of the lions, especially played against this brilliant blue, deep green and sweet pink.

Easter eggs and tulips: both surprises, something surprisingly material and promising hidden in the splintered green.

Mushroom city – love the brown.

Lilac against burch

Again, the lions against the bells and the crimson tulip.

lily waves

More thicket.  Tulips gone feral.

This, my dears, is pink snow.  It comes from a great big tree across from the pasture.  I’ll show you that later, when I’ve had time to remove the ugly power lines that scar the tree.  The wind comes up, and the petals fly across the street to catch in these nasty early bits of weed.  I open the car door, look down, and find the pink snow.  Then I know it’s spring.

Once Gin’s and Cam’s and Char’s, then M’s.  Now Emma’s.

The lions still don’t trust me.  Or maybe they thought I was G, coming to find them.