Surely it’s April that should be “breeding lilacs out of the dead land”, not January? But here the buds are already beginning to show signs of breaking into life.
Mind you, unless there’s some rain soon, I don’t quite know how much energy the trees will have for producing flowers, especially as I forgot to dead head them when they finished flowering last year.
At which point, it seems appropriate to post this abandoned draft from a few years back:
Continue reading “a promise of lilacs”
City heels slip on cobbles
glossed by the fading traces
of the morning’s frost
It’s not only the seasons that seem to have shifted here. At this time of year, we should have snow on the mountains; instead it looked more as if we had a volcano out there this morning.
I took this photo today; elsewhere in garden, the violets have been in flower for a couple of weeks. 
I don’t doubt that for everything there is a season. It just isn’t always the one you’d expect it to be.
The poem I posted on Thor’s Day last week has never been quite what I wanted it to be.
The original notes are for a bullet-point poem with the things children love about rain contrasted with the things that it means to an adult – leaking window frames, wet washing draped everywhere, rising damp and higher prices at the green grocer’s.
It was intended to end up with the (adult) narrator adding a pair of red wellingtons to her shopping list. (As the photo suggests, I’m a great believer in bright boots and umbrellas for grey days.)
Continue reading “red wellingtons on a grey day”
don't confuse the narrator 