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.
