March, Neither Winter Nor Spring

Suddenly it’s March, the setting sun lights up the snowy mountains, a North wind blows and the garden shivers. Days grow longer if not warmer; the setting sun wreaths the island in ribbons of red and orange.

Wrapped in several layers and making the most of recent dry weather, the increasing piles of garden rubbish have been cleared. The sweet smell of wood smoke drifts across the garden, the wheelbarrow filled with compost materials as flower beds are tidied and perennials cut back; already plants are springing back to life.

Throughout the long, dark, wet winter days, the pink lily (Schizostylis coccinea) has brightened the sullen garden. Saved from the chaos of the overgrown plot, several small clumps now flower throughout the winter.

Shrubs decimated by the sellers have re-established themselves, already blossoming, nectar for the first insects stirring. Unable to prune in Autumn, there are shrubs needing cut back that should have been removed long ago that now take up too much space and light…

Colour returns in the form of spring bulbs, crocus, hyacinths and daffodils..

Somehow, last year areas of neglect seemed to abound, yet the snowdrops have flowered in spite of the near constant storms. Meanwhile in the cooler, shaded areas some are just beginning to bloom. For the first time in years, no snowdrops have graced our table, normally we would have gathered some for mum…

Usually quite content in my own company, an unexpected wave of loneliness envelopes me with a longing for the company of friends and family, the bustle of the city. An unbidden melancholy…

In the golden embers of a day that is neither truly winter nor spring; listening to the birdsong cascade across the garden; the seagulls cry rising on the bitter wind…

Breathing in the pure, clear air, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun, blackbirds quarrel, sparrows chirp, robins compete for the sweetest tune. Shy dunnocks gather fallen seed from the busy blue tits. Soon the last melodies fade away, only the wind moans through the trees, the whisper of the waves against the distant shore, first stars brighten the evening sky. In the shadows the empty garden benches extend an invitation. Waiting for warmer days and summer visitors….