The maidenly blush of new blossom has almost gone, though a what
miracle it was after that long winter. Now it is a new season which ought to
have a special name and be celebrated in its own right. It is in Europe of course,
where its equivalent falls in May. It’s that time in mid – spring when the trees
hastily cover their naked branches in flamboyant green. The rich fat smell of
hawthorn fills the air, the chestnut puts out its white candles and the bees
are busy.
A lazy bird of prey rides on the
wind.
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| The chestnut |
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| The oakleaves |
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| At the Railway Roundabout |
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| The elms |
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| In the gardens |
Though I love the steadfast evergreens and enduring
eucalypts, the annual renewal of deciduous trees still fills me with delight.
If autumn colour brings intimations of mortality and thinking of times past and
loves lost, this flush of green is a kind of quickening that makes me yearn for
new adventures and do new things before the harsher sun of summer turns all that
green grass brown.
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| Fiddle heads getting ready to sproing. I always want to catch them at it but it never seems to work without time lapse |
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| Old trees feel their sap rising | |
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| Young apprentices feel it.... |
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| .... and older folk are not immune, though they may of course be discussing their investment strategy |
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