radfrac_archive: (green grid)
There are fat green buds on the lilac bush. Each bony finger of the chestnut holds a fresh unironed lime-green handkerchief, suspended from the phalanx' tip, waiting to drop it so you can gallantly catch it before it reaches the pavement.

I saw my first bluebells this morning on the way to work, one pale bundle in the back corner of an apartment garden. And an amoebic outline of white stones with a little nest of tulip-tree petals, pink, containing a clutch of chocolate eggs in blue-violet foil. The tulip tree itself alongside, shaking out into blowsy bloom.

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Yesterday was fall for the cherry blossoms. The streets and gutters are full of drifts. The crabapples (at last identified) are scattering the grass with tufts of white ruffles stained pink, like scraps left over from sewing.

Yesterday the chestnuts all lit their candles at once. The tree at Southgate, which we have walked past without much remarking every day until yesterday, was suddenly immense, a shaggy monster, a topiary O around the power lines, populated all over by upstart spindles of white blossoms.

Thursday I walked through the park by accident, east to west, in the evening just cooling. On the east side, our side, shadowed by trees and houses, the camas had just started. On the west side, slopes facing the setting sun, the camas was as thick as the grass and as high, up to my knees in places, staining the whole hillside purple.

This year is the year I noticed what I'm hypothesizing are yellow dogwoods. ([livejournal.com profile] xcaro?)Trees with flat platters of flowers, sturdy-looking, with green knobs at the centre. Whatever they are, I like their murky gold colour, touched by green, as though they haven't been convinced to forget that they were once wild.

I'm so much happier to be going for rambles again, even with sunburns and sore feet afterwards. [livejournal.com profile] stitchinmyside and I walked most of the way along the water into James Bay on an aborted journey to the Superior (we settled for beer and pizza with [livejournal.com profile] inlandsea when she got home). She pointed out a field of camas streaked with buttercups, the last sun illuminating it.

I see each thing blooming, and note it, and that should probably be enough; but when I tell each one here, I see it again, and that makes me greedy to tell you everything.

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The Easter lilies have come forth! Along Southgate, where it winds behind St. Ann's Academy, they hang their pale heads and shyly bloom towards the earth.

The daffodils, too. The lilies were almost lost among them. I probably shouldn't admit this, being a son of St. Dafydd (or anyway grandson), but I've never much liked daffodils. They're weird, abstract, constructed-looking flowers. They look like musical instruments or light bulbs or something loud and hungry. They're a fine cheerful yellow (and the two-tone ones are eggily cool), but for me they're mostly a signpost of things to come; I'm glad to see them because I know what's coming after.

When I was a child, I found brightly-coloured flowers too garish, almost painful to look at, and preferred subtler colours and smaller blossoms.

My favorite flower is the chocolate lily, also indigenous to this area. I like them because they are not really very pretty, but they are beautiful. And they're extremely cool, especially when the lighter striations are close enough that they start to look like a checkerboard. And of course the name.

I do like tulips, which come after and are just as bright as daffs, but somehow please me in their simplicity. I've grudgingly come to like ruffled tulips, but the plain, rounded, solid ones always seem more tulipy to me.

I tried to find images of early daffodils to see if I liked them better, and found that when you couple "daffodil" and "evolution" you get a lot of this:

The Evolution of Polymorphic Sexual Systems in Daffodils (Narcissus)

(Quote: "Narcissus, the daffodil genus, exhibits an unusual diversity of sexual systems," -- that's kind of hot.)

and this:

Why I'm not a daffodil

And so on.

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