By Phyllis Galowitz
It’s 5 AM, April 27th. What a difference two weeks make. As the sky opens up to a new day and the sunrise reflects pink clouds above the still dark landscape below, I see the silhouette of the tall sugar maple in front of my window being reborn after its long winter sleep. Blossoms not there yesterday are suddenly unfurling.
Yesterday was an absolutely, perfect day, temperatures in the upper 70s, a soft breeze sweeping the garden and birds that I haven’t seen or heard since last year, singing their hearts out. As I gently cleared away the debris from last summer, plants were emerging everywhere. Hostas, looking like the tips of giant asparagus, Autumn joy sending up new shoots from their long roots under the ground. Mint, not able to contain itself, spewing its tiny new leaves in a wider and still wider area, bleeding heart, sweet woodruff, the sword-like leaves of iris to come; everywhere I look, the earth is waking, calling me to help remove the blankets of leaves and last years dead growth and free them to grow.
The floor of the woods is greening by the minute. You can almost see it changing in front of your eyes. More and more daffodils are opening on the borders and the delicate lavender of the scilla waves in the breeze.
Andes wakes up late. This wonderful phenomenon has already occurred in New York City and other towns between here and there, but it’s special here because it’s ours and because we’ve waited so long! ~
Comments are closed, but trackbacks and pingbacks are open.