Spring is by definition unpredictable! These are a few photos for a small sampling of the mix of blossom, dried seed heads, new growth and even snow there can be. All come from the middle of April, but in different years. What will this year surprise us with? Come see!
For liturgical churches, purple is the color of Lent, the season we are now in, the forty days plus Sundays leading up to Easter. The word itself comes from the Old English word for spring, and is related to various Germanic languages meaning the lengthening of days. These crocus celebrate the purple and glow with the spring light.
Last Tuesday I stepped out my back door and was surprized to see a whole clump of early crocus had sprung overnight. All this week they have danced through a rhythm of opening and closing. Early mornings they are like furled umbrellas, pale outer petals nearly hiding the darker inner petals. Then with a bit of light and warmer temperatures they open and lift amber pistils and stamens to the sun. By evening they are folded up again for the night, re-opening in the morning. And after the rain all day today, they are drenched and pathetic, about to slip away and leave the stage free for the next spring performers.
In northern Indiana, we're at one of the year's hinges (how appropriate that yesterday was Leap Day!). One day the glimpses of white are the snowdrops coming up through brown leaves and green pachysandra, and the calligraphy of bare white sycamore branches lit by the sun.
A day or two later, those snowdrops are covered with snow and the only "flowers" to be seen are icy caps on dried seedheads. One sunlit clump of snow reminds me of cupped hands -- holding the thought of spring, perhaps? A day later, the snow is gone, and the snowdrops have grown several inches. And I spot early crocus, white and yellow, in my south-facing window well. Despite today's winter weather advisory, spring is on its way.
My approach to contemplative photography --
Tell about it."
Mary Oliver in "Sometimes"