Waiting for Spring to Spring Forth

No, the hydrangias, as in the new header photo, are not out yet -- the rhododendrons and azeleas aren't either.  Every season here has a different rhythm. It's definitely spring but the forsythia didn't open until near the end of April instead of early on as they usually do.  A chill, sometimes very cold (even snowy) wind slowed their opening. That same kind of chill in the air has had them clinging, now a tired old gold instead of the original gay, sweet yellow, the leaves are timidly trying to emerge.  The rhododendrons hesitate with tightly furled buds, not ready to open at all.  Some azeleas, if they have been planted in reasonably sheltered spots where they get whatever sun the stingy sky has offered have opened but cling in a bewildered, slump-shouldered way.  The daffodils and narcissus have opened and seem to stand around bewildered that time, for them is standing still. 

Meanwhile rain has fallen every day for a week. The pundits say there's a "low pressure system" stuck above Cape Cod.  I  look out my window now at fog; it is soft and a bit romantic but I am terribly tired of it. Spring is late; we had only two days when people thought it had arrived.  I watch people and see many have pulled out their flipflops. How cold their toes look. Here men of all ages seem to think wearing shorts is a delight, they look silly with their bony knees, hair legs above their socks and sneakers or other shoes.  I remember my fashionable earlier days with short skirts and panty hosed legs and being very, very chilly in such weather.  I don't do that any more.  I haven't even pulled out the short sleeved tee shirts -- or the flip flops. Maybe sometime next week ... if the weather changes.  In former years there have been wonderful April days when  I walked on my favorite beach, bare foot, along the tide line enjoying the coolness of the water around my ankles. I have not even been to the beach -- the wind has been forbidding.

But "true" spring will come. The rosa rugosa will bloom, the  plovers and terns will nest, and I will be able to go to the beach, find a quiet spot and do the tai chi easy which involves a period of deeply breathing that air off the water and contemplating the blue of the water and sky and perhaps some fluffy cumulus clouds drifting by, utterly peaceful, with no intent of spilling more rain.