Spring has come unexpectedly early to the Mountains in an awkward, chaotic rush – leaving plants and animals confused as warm days are interspersed with the impending threat of snow.
Daffodils have preceded their cousins, the jonquils; prunus trees blossom on nature strips, a month before their time. The first rhododendrons burst into bloom, unaware that they are not expected for another 6 weeks, and everywhere, the golden spheres of wattle illuminate the bush like a million tiny sunbursts. The small, daily changes in the garden: bulbs peeping through the soil, buds forming on bare branches and the excited chattering of scrub-wrens – all these mark the approach of longer days as the sun slowly moves south once more to describe a longer path across the sky.
But it creates unease, this hectic flush of Spring, a precocious youth flaunting his beauty as the dark, senescent Winter shambles grudgingly towards its close.
We are never truly comfortable with things outside their time. As much as we long for the warmth of Summer, the slow procession of the seasons is suited to our animal bodies which crave their winter rest.
The days are still too short, the light is wrong, the garden should still be bare. someone has turned on the light but we are not ready to wake up.
But ah! the flowers are beautiful….