When today is certain to be the same as yesterday, there’s no reason to get up early. I’ve been a bit crook and haven’t been sleeping that great, so a sleep-in was welcome. But 9:22? That’s definitely a record for me. However, my delight of the day didn’t involve sleeping.
These buttery yellow crocuses stopped in my tracks–they are glorious. Crocuses are one of my favorite flowers, and a glance starts the flash reminiscences…my mom’s Saratoga garden in spring, the patch of early spring crocuses in the grass at the end of the suspension bridge at Cornell, the tangled brilliant yellow strands of saffron in a clear plastic cube.
Crocuses are ridiculously optimistic, starting up in the end of the winter, undaunted by snow, one of the first hopes of spring. I don’t know why they’re blooming now in Christchurch, when it’s fall, but they make a nice connection between the hemispheres–they’re probably blooming in parks in NYC right now. I’m not going to draw any inferences about hope and the end of winter and all that poetical nonsense; our crocuses are blooming in autumn after all.
Poetical nonsense? You sound like your father’s daughter. Sorry.