rising from THE MUD

I FEEL like I’m being pulled in every direction in Spring. Just when the season is perfect for food-garden cultivation and I really have to get the seedlings potted on, the bush starts to soften and haze over with wildflowers.

And the season is so short, from the first hardenbergia scrambling over a lichenous rock to the last chocolate lily, you don’t want to miss a thing, but there are too many things.

I want to take my time at greenhood orchid-level giggling to myself,too long we’ll run out of time to get to the eagle’s nest and back before dark, and maybe the eagle chicks have hatched, or maybe they’ll be balancing on the edge testing their wings in the updraught, and if I don’t hurry up I’ll miss a chapter in the story.