a new month
4th March 2022
The end of February and the start of March has been rainy, but today is sunny and the sun feels warm on my skin. I am sitting in a chair on my patio with fruit tea, no coat on, watching my cats bask. There is just a little stirring of the air, it’s slight chill reminding me that we have a little time to go yet before true heat out here, but there is a gentle, hopeful feel in the air.
Mini daffodil in a pot of raggedy strawberry plants
The plum tree over the fence is scattered with white blossoms, and the wild cherries here and there in the neighbourhood are similarly bright. This new blossom seems to laugh at the tattered looking viburnum flowers that have kept that little bit of prettiness and scent throughout the Winter, but are now looking sad. I have been thankful for their cheerful pink at the end of the garden whilst everything else seems grey, but now it is time for them to go and make way for the Spring.
Browning viburnum x bodnantense flowers
Someone, probably birds, has been nibbling at the daffodils that have shown their heads, but there is one amongst the strawberries that seems to have been missed. That bright yellow is like a tiny glint of sunlight growing from the soil. All around the garden are the green clumps of long leaves, signalling that it will soon be bluebell season. Every year there are more of them, and the muscari under the apple tree are multiplying similarly.
Bluebell leaves next to the conservatory
The tree peony is stretching up new pinkish stems, and the bush peony at its base is letting me know that it survived another Winter. The rambling rose also has new growth, reminding me that I must move it this weekend, out of the way of the work for my new studio this summer. Hopefully the bluebells and salvia at it’s base can stay where they are a little longer, but they, also, will soon need new homes.
Tree peony buds
The sounds of birds are all around. The see-see-tititititi of a blue tit, the chattering of sparrows, the squeaky chiffchaff, and then a sudden, single burst of song from a hidden robin. The wood pigeons are restless, one flapping after the other through the branches of a willow, but the collared doves seem peaceful, a group of them watching me quietly from high in next-door’s tree.
New leaves on cotoneaster
After the months of darker, dying days, I’m thinking about new Spring art. Something is already sketched out ready for some paint, and my mind is buzzing with more plans and fizzing ideas.