I love spring bulbs.
Such hopeful and determined little things. They gladden the heart and remind us that we have got through the darkest depths of another winter.
So delicate and yet so tough, they push their way through the winter ground to form bright patches of colour along the hedgerows, in the gardens and amongst the dessicated leafy floor of the post winter woodlands.
Recently I went to the tree planting ceremony following a woodland funeral. The tree planting can only take place at a certain time so it was a bit of a wait since the funeral but it was a lovely experience.
It was a beautiful spring day and the sun put in a rare appearance.Between the oak saplings of various ages the carpet of snowdrops, crocuses and primroses that covered the site seemed to bask in the rays and here and there an early daffodil had opened, the butter bright petals standing out among the smaller bulbs and flowers. We heard the drilling of a woodpecker in the nearby trees and the birdsong was so musical. Lively and loud, really celebrating the coming Spring.
I must admit that I like cemeteries, particularly the old ones with their quiet air of tranquility and peace.
They are full of mystery and history with all those stones hinting at lives lived, relationships, stories. One of my favourite books is Neil Gaiman's 'The Graveyard Book' with its fascinating tale of the people belonging to a graveyard community. Wonderful. Dark and humorous at the same time. I highly recommend it.
Obviously, like any sane person I wouldn't feel the same about graveyards after dark or at the witching hour with all the ghosties and ghoulies afoot. But on a warm Spring day, planting a tree among the flowers in memory of a special person it was a true haven.
It's early days to be hoping for the end of the winter storms, the cold and the dark, but the bulbs push up and flower regardless, brightly optimistic and I for one am happy to follow their lead. Even if I've still got my winter woollies to hand, just in case...