If “Hope Springs Eternal”, then Spring is eternal hope. The blooming daisies emerging through the Winter chill. The fields of Bluebells bursting into life, an ocean of violet against a sea of green. A chance for reimagining and rebirth. Life prevails through the bleak deep-Winter storms, the steady rise in temperatures calling in the start of a new season of prosperity. Bud burst erupts as Cytokinin and Auxin cause mass cell division, the deciduous trees in their ramshackle rows racing into action to take advantage of the long, warm Summer days ahead.

A relatively small rock and water ball floats silently through space, the axis tilting towards Sol. The proportion of the Sun’s direct and diffuse radiation experienced by the planet’s Northern hemisphere increased compared to the Southern. Inconceivable interstellar gymnastics as the bundles of rock hurtle their cosmic ballet recital. And yet here, in this corner of a meadow in England, a lone Crocus listens to the calls of Spring, a process too incomprehensible playing out before us.

 A fine mist of dew begins to soak the air. Before long lashed curtains of rain fall. The world seems angry and hostile, juxtaposed by the bright vibrance of the purple Crocus. The flower faces off against the grey overcast sky as the nimbostratus clouds roll in. The delicate petals of the fragile plant battle against a tirade of abuse from the prevailing North-Easterly wind. Soon the ground is overcome by the elements, pools of water flooding around the stem as the soil reaches saturation. Still the flowers stand, defiantly taking on the worst of the weather, another uphill struggle overcome.

A stark reminder that Spring has not yet sprung.

Only Happy Days,

~ A ~