This crown imperial (Fritillaria imperialis) has not flowered in years, but I don’t grow it for decorative purposes – it is to keep away the critters who might eat up the single crocus we have left, with its powerfully-pungent odor. For just long enough until the crocus foliage can ripen and start dying back, giving food for next year’s bloom.
Who loves the sun?
Who cares that it makes plants grow?
Who cares what it does
Since you broke my heart?
Who loves the wind?
Who cares that it makes breezes?
Who cares what it does
Since you broke my heart?
This song by the Velvet Underground sounds more like summer than spring, but we need summer more than spring right now because winter is still creeping into the nights and mornings. Ephemerals are coming up even in the most frightful weather – the enchanting and all-too-fleeting hardy flowers whose delicate appearance is at odds with how tough they need to be this early in the growing season.
Who loves the sun?
Who loves the sun?
Not everyone
Who loves the sun?
Who loves the rain?
Who cares that it makes flowers?
Who cares that it makes showers
Since you broke my heart?
Spring is made for the contradictions – the tender with the tough, the rustic with the refined – and throughout it all the battle of sun and rain, the celebration of flowers and showers. What will the next day bring? No one can know…
Who loves the sun?
Who cares that it is shining?
Who cares what it does
Since you broke my heart?
Who loves the sun?
Who loves the sun?
Not everyone
Who loves the sun?
Sun
Sun
Sun
