Come Rain or Come Shine

Come Rain or Come Shine

Days have been rather grey of late, an unyielding granite-grey to which only our burgeoning population of moles can comfortably relate - it's also been quite wet. Ten inches of rain in March, and almost the same amount fell in January and February. I know, many parts of the country get this amount of precipitation in a day or two, but our pluviosity is cold, penetrating, lingering like an unwanted winter cough. Things begin to mold, objects rot, creatures decay. The red steel wheelbarrow, left leaning against the hedge all winter, disintegrates. Bryophytes may wave their archegonium and antheridium in the damp air and be gay, but for the Lewisia, and several others, otherwise hardy plants, the center cannot hold under such conditions. Even the Himalayan Meconopsis seem to be loosing hope.

But, in the wee greenhouse, where muffled rumors of Spring are heard and promises shine, the Arabis blepharophylla have flowered and gone to seed. Draba are still in bloom, and in a few days, at least one Primula auricula will open its petals.

Outside, despite the weather, crocus and daffodil are blooming, dispelling any less-than-cheerful thoughts I might have harbored. And there are cyclamen, anemone, pulmonaria, hellebore, hepatica, and heathers, Iris tenax and the first primrose blooming. And as if the day wasn't wonderful enough, in and of itself, the latest issue of Café in Space, The Anais Nin Literary Journal, arrived. The world is indeed a wonderful place to be born into.