January may be an inevitable Jotun, but Spring is just as inevitable. Like augurs of Rome, we read the signs of her in the flight of birds first. She does not dwell in February, but she sends her heralds, and by the end of this month, I will have bulbs sprouting, maybe even a few blooming, like the silly Scylla, which are the color of the clear sky exactly.
The star magnolia will bloom in February, as well. Its blossoms are flouncy, snowy white against a bare-branched skeleton of the mother tree. It is ghostly on a cloudy day, but sparkles in the sunlight. I might even see the first spears of daffodils, particularly the precious tête-à-tête, which are small and early. Invariably, the white stars of Bethlehem will spear up and form buds.
In fact, when this snow thaws away, there will be warmth and moisture enough that all the small, hardy, plants, which are ridiculously fragile looking but not at all, will shake off slumber that has become ever more fitful and extend their tendrils, shoots, buds or martial spears. To greet them will be sunlight in adequate portions to assure everyone, plant and creature alike, that it’s not all a hoax.
And then the frivolity will begin!
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