How strange to be homesick for a grey sky. I was under an unfailing blue sky for months this winter – never shovelled a flake of snow, didn’t have to battle ice like my dear friends and relatives here in Montreal. Yet, in April I got restless. I longed to hear the sound of geese returning, to see frail green shoots breaking through the wet cold ground of my little garden. The Spanish camellia bush full of pink blossoms was impressive. The purple bougainvillea tumbling over a wall made a great photo op. Yet, the yellow mimosa made me long for forsythia. Yes, there is nothing like the humble snowdrop to make you realize how strength resides in the delicate things. The crocus that is the first draw to bees is a sign of hope. How can the victory be worth anything if there was no battle.
The downside is that I have a very ambitious fritillaria that is almost ready to bloom and I heard rumours of sleet tonight. Time to make a little newspaper had for my darlings that waited so faithfully for me.