Swollen

There’s no plan that can handle the vagaries of March

Sicilian proverb

One day the sun is bright, the air is brisk and I can be tempted into the garden. The velvet grey pussy willow buds are dusted with yellow pollen and the birds are frantic in their song.

Then it rains again. The pond level rises, the drive is more puddle than gravel, I have to make the dash from studio to the house with an old towel draped over my head and the front door won’t open without a forceful jab from the hip. Gardening is reduced to cosseting tomato and cucumber seedlings on the windowsill. They cheer me up.

When the sky clears it’s a different story altogether. The hedges glisten with swollen rosy buds and the occasional burst of spring green. Wispy blades of winter wheat and barley shimmer to the horizon and I can hear the skylarks high over head.

And if it rains again at the weekend? 
I’ll be content to stay indoors, I’ve got 4 kilos of oranges to turn into marmalade. 
Carpe diem.