Siberian squill (Scilla siberica)
One day, there are deep snow drifts everywhere. The next day, the snow has vanished, and little green shoots and delicate wildflowers are poking their heads out of the sun warmed earth on the edge of the woods.
Flowers are springing up everywhere, reaching for the light over their fragile heads. Grasses thrust themselves out of puddles in the park, and a few ducks paddle up and down the little stream among the trees. Everywhere, there is birdsong, every feathered singer in the overstory declaring its delight in the season.
On morning walks, we (Beau and I) look for sprouting bloodroot, trout lilies and daffodils in the woods, and we rejoice whenever we see a tiny green leaf lifting its head from the moist, crumbly soil and desiccated leaves.
It will be a week or two before there is full blown flowering in our favourite haunts, but a few purple squill are already blooming in last autumn's tattered residue on the forest floor, and we were happy to discover them on a recent ramble.
There were times when we thought this winter would never end. There are days now and then when we still think so, but for the most part, we can hardly believe our good fortune. Every dancing sunbeam and tremulous wee fleur is a gift.
1 comment:
Aah, such a tiny gem. Thank you, Cate, and while every day isn't as warm as I hoped, winter is over.
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