In an uncertain and often troubling world it is somewhat reassuring to know that the sweet freshness of spring so reliably follows the interminable bleakness of winter. Spring is a bouquet of hope.
Several weeks ago I found myself at home trying to shake the final vestiges of a winter cold. The house was being buffeted by yet another southerly storm as I glanced out the window and noticed to my delight; not only a small crowd of wax eyes foraging in the skeletal branches of the plum tree but the first sprinkling of vivid green buds. Within days there was a ghostly white dusting of blossom and a flurry of gossamer petals continued to gather as if the naked branches were mysteriously plucking them out of the air. Spring had arrived all at once; framed with casual serendipity by our kitchen window.
There was now a spectacular floral backdrop as we unloaded the dishwasher or made a cup of tea. I would leave the curtains open until well after dark as the clouds of white petals would luminesce in the crepuscular light like the interior of an otherworldly nightclub providing an enchanting alternative to the six o’clock news.
Now there is a green room outside our kitchen window. The blossom extravaganza has segued into a delightful canopy of leaves, moss is verdantly cladding our earthquake furrowed brick patio and the acanthus plants against the fence have lavishly arranged their glossy, almost prehistoric foliage as a definitive exemplar of the colour green. The rusted and weathered French café chairs are scattered a little askew, the wrought iron table with it's legs scrolled like ivy sits expectantly in the shade. The scene is set and as soon as the nasty easterly wind allows we will be dining outside surrounded by the beauty of nature and looking forward to the promise of summer.