These last two years have had very late starts to spring for us in this part of the world. Usually, the forsythia is out tail end of February, blossom March – April, bluebells in May, and then dribs and drabs over everything else over the course the summer. These last two years we’ve had it all blooming at the same time due to everything starting late and playing catch up.
We obsess over weather and seasons here, because they are so unpredictable. We never know for sure just what a week will bring. From winter to the beginning of the heat of summer (briefly) was achieved overnight, and we went from sweaters to scrabbling for short sleeves and linen clothes over the course of 24 hours.
But what a show! Pinks, blues, yellows, purples, lilacs – all in the mix together at once, which, although is worrying, is also quite enjoyable too. And another reminder that life cannot be rushed; by all our fretting and planning and scheming, things will unfold at the time they are supposed to – in the season it should – when it is right and ready.
Roll with it.
So too with these precious blooms of mine. Childhood is such a short reprieve for them; I seem to re-learn to trust the process over and over again. My anxiety changes nothing, my plans, at best, will only ever be provisional. Everything blooms when it should.
It really does.
And to know that comes with a little bit of experience and a lot of trust.