It’s that time of year. The time when everything seems to be growing and all the trees and shrubs are coming into flower.
It’s all very well to walk round gasping at the inexpressible beauty of it all and taking photos to post on social media, but it’s very frustrating not to have any idea of what type of blossom any of it is.
There has been much talk of the unseasonable weather here in the UK, with swathes of bright daffodils blazoned across webpages offering a counterpoint to dreary rainscapes and flood destruction.
So my photo is hardly news, although it is at least a Welsh daff – taken yesterday, New Year’s Day, near Chepstow in South Wales. I did consider titling this piece: post early for St David’s Day. Whether there will still be daffs in bloom in three months’ time remains to be seen.
It’s Bank Holiday weekend. Not May Day weekend, as it should be; nor yet “Spring bank holiday”, as I thought it might be. It’s simply “Early May bank holiday”, an anodyne phrase with no dangerous political connotations to offend or inspire.
Today, according to English tradition, is Primrose Day, which marks the anniversary of the death of the Conservative politician, Benjamin Disraeli. Perhaps, after my recent foray into more political topics, I should note that my motives for posting are purely floral.
When I walked across the neighbour’s field the other day, it was almost waist-deep in spring flowers: poppies, wild lupins, hawkweed, oxeye daisies, little purple vetches… The brightest of all were these golden blooms which were glorious from a distance, but not so nice up close as nearly every one harboured some kind of bug-eyed monster.
(Incidentally, I’m beginning to think I should change the blog tag-line to “Mostly first person poetry, prose, pedantry and plant pictures.”)