Tag: spring

early warning

Here in the UK, the spring equinox happens (occurs? falls?) tomorrow at 10:28. I’m a bit confused by that, as I don’t understand how we can have equal day and night at a specific minute half way through the morning.

Exploring the subject a little further, I find that equinox doesn’t mean equilux: day and night are not of equal length, whatever I was taught in school.

In fact, where I am, today was already almost 12 hours and 7 minutes long, which must, presumably, make the night some 14 minutes shorter. And from now until well into April, each day will increase in length by about 4 minutes, meaning that in less than a month, we’ll be having over 14 hours of daylight. Sadly, that’s not 14 hours of sunshine.
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a distinct lack of clarity

I took a fair number of photos of the pussy willow tree I passed on my way to the market today. It was breezy, though, and, much like my thoughts, none of the pictures are very focused.

This first one was in many respects especially unsuccessful, as the camera settings were all wrong. Even so, it is by far my favourite.

I’m sure I should be able to come up with some particularly cutting or incisive comment about it, but I’m afraid my ideas are all a bit vague and rather fuzzy round the edges.

signs and portents

There’s hazy sunshine this morning and I suspect that when I finally get ready and go out it will feel like spring.

I’m pretty sure, though, that the blossoms I photographed in full sunshine at lunchtime a couple of days ago will have been battered to a pulp by storms by now.

Even today, if I diddle around too long, fussing about what to wear and writing the blog etc., it’s quite possible that the weather will have changed completely and it will be bucketing down with rain and blowing a force ten gale.
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invasion

I re-watched the 1978 version of The Invasion of the Body-snatchers last night and was much taken by this brief dialogue:

Elizabeth Driscoll: I have seen these flowers all over. They are growing like parasites on other plants all of a sudden. Where are they coming from?

Nancy Bellicec: Outer space?

Jack Bellicec: What are you talking about? A space flower?

Nancy Bellicec: Well why not a space flower? Why do we always expect metal ships?

Jack Bellicec: I’ve NEVER expected metal ships.

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endings and beginnings

About ten days ago I was running to catch a bus to get to a meeting when I passed a huge may tree in full bloom. I hadn’t time to do more than pause and then rush on, but I thought it’d be a good idea for the last blog post of this month: how we have two bank holidays in May, and yet neither of them are May Day; how the English say Ne’er cast a clout till May be out – whether that be the month of May or the blossom – while the Spanish with their far balmier climate say hasta el cuarenta de mayo no te quites el sayo – don’t take off your coat till the 40th of May; how taking may blossom into the house is supposed to bring bad luck…

Of course, I then forgot to go back and take the picture.

This morning I went across the park and there are plenty of trees and other plants in bloom, but I didn’t find any hawthorn.

The park was frothing at the hedges with cow parsley:

cow parsley
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