Spring at Footlights…

It’s been wet since February!  I’m sure there have only been a handful of days when the sun’s either come out or it’s been cloudy, dry and windy.

Along with the corona virus the weather seems to have settled a huge, depressing cloud over everything…and I feel like Andy Capp mooching along the street, hands in pockets, cigarette dangling from his mouth, flat cap pulled down low over his eyes, heading home.  Add Joe Btfsplk’s rain cloud following him wherever he goes and you get the picture.

My brother says London pretty much tells the same story.

However, since we’re going to be rained upon during this isolation period Hubs and I have been taking the time to trim trees, haul logs and branches, mow, weed and enjoy, the rather mild weather, despite the overcast skies.

Spring at Footlights just can’t be ignored.

A swollen creek with a fallen tree inviting us to cross to the other side where the grass couldn’t possibly be any greener but it’s going to try!


Moss, in the grass, on fallen boughs, begging to be photographed, the exact shade of green that entices me to relax, breathe deeply, sink into its softness and lie down to dream.


Trout Lilies, delicate but strong, springing back after I’ve trodden on them on my way to examine the fungus that sticks out of the trees closest to the creek; hard and brittle after drying off in the morning wind, garlanded with  honeysuckle climbing steadfastly to higher reaches where it will bloom and fill the air with a heavenly fragrance for anyone who cares to notice as she passes by.


I wait patiently for the slow release of mother nature’s treasure trove.

Spider webs scattering the field first thing in the morning,

glistening with dew like jewels sprinkled in gossamer showing me the way through the gauzy maze,


to stare in wonderment at the rabbit or armadillo’s hole, deep beneath the roots of the tree;

a den fortressed with roots already there;

cunning creature.


Flowers blooming in my zinnia bed, the Iris that my mother never liked,

“They’re untidy,” she’d say of them.

They are disheveled, I agree, but in an ethereal way; gracefully delicate they withstand the strong winds clattering around the guttering and eaves this year.


Fruit trees blossoming, whether I get fruit will depend on the squirrels and birds who live with me at Footlights;

For the moment I enjoy their splendour…


Surprised I come upon a red-bud, the boldest of them all, showing off in the junipers,


only a handful of days before it sheds its flushed blossom and disappears again in the shelter of the the evergreens.

The short-lived brilliance of this little tree heralds the start of Spring for me as the clocks change and throw me off again;

I am re-assured that in this different and confusing time nature, like God, is consistent.

Discover something new inside you and watch it unfurl,

Be still.

Be Spring.

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2020-04-07 23:06:42 Reply

And to think I am sequestered with you! Ahhhh, Spring is lovely!

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