The trout lilies, aka dog-toothed violets, are blooming just two steps from my bottom step. It is a large patch, perhaps 7 ft by 5 feet. It grows a little larger each year and has been in that same spot ever since I’ve lived in the cabin, and who knows how long before that.
This morning I am blessed in a dry season with a bit of spring drizzle—not much unfortunately. Enough even so to make the birds sing and see the leaves of the smaller forest trees now edged with pale green. The rue anemone are blooming, too.
So, it is spring, and it feels like an early spring after one of the warmest Marches ever. Looking ahead, the first half of April, at least, looks cool. Perhaps the weather will keep spring at this level for a while. I would like that for I like this time of year before the oak leaves burst open, before the underbrush makes woods walking difficult. It’s a bit like November after the leaves have fallen, but warmer. It’s a time when I can see over to the next mountain, and sounds aren’t yet muffled by the leafy canopy. I wouldn’t mind if this time of year stayed for a while and didn’t rush into summer or even full spring. Perhaps it will happen.